Revelations Part Two
by lovelorn45
Summary: Josephine Grayson continues on her quest to fulfill her dying mother's last wish.
1. Chapter 1

_Revelations, is an original story, inspired by the U.S. cult T.V. series BEAUTY AND THE BEAST and was first written in 1998 and published independently. I can confirm that I am the original author._

_Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Ron Koslow, Witt-Thomas Productions, Republic Pictures, or CBS._

**CHAPTER ONE.**

_**THURSDAY, 29TH DECEMBER, 1994 - NEW YORK CITY.**_

"You did _**what**_!" Jacob Wells leaned heavily against his gnarled old walking stick, and regarded one of his oldest and most trusted friends with disbelief.

William, the short, rotund, grey bearded man who had for more years than Jacob Wells could remember, been a stalwart citizen of their subterranean world, a member of their ruling Council of Elders and the best cook that he had ever had the good fortune to know, stood before him, awkwardly, facing his old friend's wrath at his unexpected confession.

"How _**could**_ you?" Jacob asked in incredulous tones. "How could you take such a decision? How could you take something like that upon yourself!" He demanded hotly now, his grey whiskered old cheeks suffusing with heat and color. "You _**know**_ what this means to him!" He railed. "I can't believe that you would do such a thing!"

"It's done now." William sighed defiantly.

"But why? Dear God, William .... _**why**_?"

"Because you don't seem to realize just how frightened people are, Father. You've lost touch with reality!" William accused bitterly. "People's lives and homes are at stake here, and you just seem happy to let him pursue this .... encouraging him ...."

"Of course I am encouraging him, William! This is something that has been important to him all of his life. You_** know**_ that! It is something that he _**needs**_ to do!"

"But not at the expense of the rest of us living down here!" William countered. "If anything happens to Vincent .... we are all done for!"

"How can you be so selfish!" Jacob exclaimed.

"It is not selfishness, Father, but self preservation! Look at me, Father. How do you think an old man like me would survive up top these days? How do you think I, you, Mary, and others like us, would live up there! This is and has always been the only real home that most of us have known! Take that away from us, and they might as well bury us all at Potters Field!"

"Our world is in no danger!" Jacob Wells protested heatedly.

"You don't know that!" William countered angrily. _**"You don't know that!**_" He emphasized. "How do we know that this isn't some kind of trap?"

"Nonsense!"

"It's _**not**_ nonsense, Father! There are a lot of people down here who are afraid for their futures …. afraid for their_** lives**_!" William was growing more red in the face as he spoke. "People are uneasy .... terrified .... and _**you**_ can't see further than the end of your _**nose**_!"

"People have had plenty of opportunity to come to me and express their concerns. None of them have done so, William, indeed, everyone has been very supportive ...."

"Oh _**wake up**_, Father! No-one wants to hurt you. No-one wants to disappoint you or Vincent, so they keep their true feelings to themselves. They need reassurance .... from you. We all love Vincent and want only the best for him, and his son, but, so long as he pursues this, no-one Below will feel .... safe .... _**that's**_ why I did it, Father. Maybe now ...."

"Maybe now, nothing!" Jacob Wells exploded angrily. "Neither _**you**_ nor _**I**_ have the right to stand between Vincent and this. You say that you love him …. then _**trust in him**_ .... to protect us .... to keep our secret .... as he always has ...."

"It's too late, Father."

"I hope for your sake, you're wrong ...."

"Father? William?" Vincent's slightly raised voice preceded his entrance in to Father's chamber, the raised voices of his oldest kith and kin drawing him on long strides.

He drew up sharply beside Father, taking in William's startled, but still angry red face, and Jacob Wells' own bearded familiar face, also suffused with color.

"What is going on here?" Vincent demanded, concerned for both elderly men.

"I'm sorry Vincent .... I have nothing against you, personally ...." William let out a deep sigh, then turned on his heel and hurried out of Father's chamber, leaving Father with his head bowed and a frown pulling at Vincent's heavy brow.

"Father?" Vincent regarded Jacob Wells curiously after a lengthy silence. "Are you going to tell me what that was all about? I could hear the shouting all the way down to the Chamber Of The Winds ...."

He suddenly grew concerned that Father's face remained flushed, his fist clenched tightly at his side, sapphire blue eyes sparkling with barely controlled rage.

"Father .... please .... calm yourself .... come .... sit ...."

"I'm all right ...." Father sighed softly, then took in a deep breath, turning to regard his son solemnly.

"I still think that you should sit down, Father ...."

"All right ...." Jacob sighed in resignation now, and allowed Vincent to steady him as he moved slowly across the chamber to sit down heavily behind his book covered desk.

"Now, Father .... tell me .... and don't look at me like that ...." Vincent sighed. "Amidst all the shouting, I quite clearly heard _**my**_ name mentioned .... so-o-o-o .... tell me."

"It's nothing ...." Jacob Wells waved his hand dismissively.

"Fine. Should I go after William and ask him? That was a very cryptic parting remark of his, Father ...."

"All right .... all right ...." Jacob acquiesced with a deep sigh. "William arranged for Bernard Tucker to call the hotline telephone number, the one on the flier, and in the newspapers," he faltered at the slight hardening of Vincent's unique features. He knew _**that**_ look better than anyone.

"To say _**what**_, Father?"

"To say that both Anna Pater, and the child .... are .... dead ...." Father revealed solemnly. "I'm sorry Vincent .... it is my fault. I should have realized.... William has always been the most outspoken on matters concerning the security of our world .... I cannot believe how selfish he's been ...."

"He is worried," Vincent let out a deep sigh.

"Yes .... Vincent .... have you heard anything from the others? Doubts? Qualms? William said that I was being .... well .... blinkered, I guess .... that I couldn't see just how worried people are ...."

"No, Father. I have heard nothing but good wishes .... although, I can understand that people might want to hide their true fears from me .... out of love .... knowing how much this means to me," Vincent sighed again. "Perhaps it is _**I**_ who is being selfish ...." He mused sorrowfully.

"No," Jacob regarded Vincent then, with steady deep sapphire blue eyes. "No. As I told William, no-one has the right to come between you and the truth ...."

"The truth. Yes .... but at what cost to my family, friends .... the people that I love?"

"Vincent, you _**cannot**_ give up now ...." Father told him sadly.

"But ...."

"But _**nothing**_. This is _**your**_ journey. _**Your**_ quest .... and you must follow your heart in this, as you have with everything else in your life. You have my support .... _**always**_ ...."

"The harm may already have been done," Vincent sighed expressively. "The seed of doubt sewn ...."

"Perhaps not. The seeker from the world Above might just pass it off as a crank call. I do not think that they will be deterred quite so easily as all that! In fact, William may have inadvertently done you a favor, my boy ...."

"Oh?" Vincent arched a heavy eyebrow.

"Yes. Tell me .... if you were looking for someone, and it was important enough for you to flood the city with leaflets offering a reward for information .... and someone called, specifically to tell you that your search was pointless, because the people that you sought were dead ...." Jacob hypothesized. "Would you simply accept it as a truth .... or would you be just a little suspicious that someone may be laying down a false trail?"

"I see your point, Father ...." Vincent brightened.

"So you wouldn't give up quiet so easily?"

"No."

"Then neither will your .... Mother ...."

"Perhaps …." Vincent conceded with a soft sigh.

"And perhaps Peter Alcott has some good news. He sent word that he has found out something, but that he would send a message down later. Obviously he did not think that it was for everyone's ears over the pipes ...."

"That was quick."

"Mmmm. Peter has friends in high places ...." Jacob Wells smiled, feeling a little calmer now that he had reassured Vincent, silently hoping that he was right about the small amount of damage William's untimely interference had caused.

"Patience, Vincent, patience ...."

"A commodity I have in abundance," Vincent smiled softly, and patted his father's gnarled old hand. "And one which I need in dealing with my son …. and his cantankerous old Grandfather!" He chuckled softly at Father's indignant look. "And speaking of young Jacob ...."

/a\

Dawn was breaking, painting the New York city skyline rose, purple, orange, and pink, pushing away the darkness, as Josephine Grayson wiped fresh tears from her eyes.

She did not know how long she had been sitting there, simply staring in to space, her mind going a mile a minute, but the muscles in her legs, back and neck were aching, and her eyes felt gritty and hot, despite the tears.

Both of her mother's boxes were open before her, their contents scattered around her, on the floor, on the bed, on chairs ....

She lowered her gaze, and stared once again, in disbelief.

Her mother's life .... laid bare on the carpet .... around the room ....

Forty years of memories.

Numerous journals, dating back from just days after her baby boy was born, right up to just before Josephine had returned to New York in September.

It had made for very interesting reading.

All of it.

Set out neatly in Andrea Reeves' familiar handwriting. Addressed to her beloved son ....

Explaining everything.

How he had been conceived.

How she had come to give him up. And how, every day, for the rest of her life, she had loved him, and thought about him.

The early journals had concentrated on her loss, her feelings of sorrow and regret that she had lost something so precious.

Full of self pity .... anger .... pain ....

And then, in later journals, she had gone on to explain how she had met, and fallen in love with Edward Reeve....

Not an all consuming passion, but a gentle love ....

A healing love ....

Friendship. Companionship.

Born of a need to move on.

Slowly learning to trust again.

All the later journals had spoken of her marriage, the birth of another child, a beautiful daughter, and her love for her husband and child. Yet, despite all that, still not enough to fill the emptiness in her heart ....

It was all there.

_**For him.**_

Her brother.

To know his mother's love ....

To know of the depth of her loss ....

Her regret ....

All there ....

For him to come to know his mother ....

Sister ....

To know that he had never been forgotten ....

To know that he had _**always**_ been loved ....

And for Josephine …. The discovery that her mother had so wanted to reach out to her, to love her, to cherish her, but, had not been able to do so, for fear of losing her too ....

If she loved her _**too**_ much ....

Amongst the journals, Josephine found old photograph albums, filled with pictures of herself as a baby. Pictures of her father, of Andrea and Edward Reeve, together. Mother, father and daughter, taken out in the backyard on a sunny, summer's afternoon ....

Pictures that told a story so completely different to how Josephine herself remembered those times ....

There were loose photographs too. Pictures of her parents in the early days of their courtship, smiling lovingly at each other. Newspaper clippings announcing their engagement. A picture of them attending a big society ball cut from the society pages of the newspaper. Their wedding photograph, Andrea beautiful in tulle and organza and satin, Edward looking very dapper in morning suit with top hat and gloves, smiling happily outside the church, the two together, surrounded by family and friends ....

She found an album full of baby pictures. Her baby pictures. Naked on the rug in front of the fire in the drawing room, as tradition dictated, to every child's eternal embarrassment. Sitting up in her pram, all bearing neatly inscribed notes beneath, telling her brother all about his baby sister, how she was growing, what she liked to eat, what made her laugh .... cry ....

All these years, Josephine had thought that her mother hadn't given a damn.

But she _**had**_.

Even when Josephine had been living in England, feeling isolated and unloved .... _**exiled**_ ....

Even then.

For there were pictures in a different album of the older Josephine, some taken by her father, in places in England that she still remembered visiting with him.

The trip to London zoo that had been such a treat. Standing beneath Big Ben, on Tower Bridge, against the backdrop of the Houses Of Parliament and the river Thames ....

In the backyard of the cottage near Brighton, or the house in London, obviously taken by her Aunt Julia, over the years. So many of them, showing Josephine at different ages ....

Riding her bicycle. One shot of her with her arm in plaster, the year she broke it falling out of a tree. On the beach at Brighton, eating ice cream. Looking thoughtful and intellectual as she read a book, lounging on a deck chair under the big oak tree in Aunt Julia's garden behind the cottage, along with old school photographs too. Report cards. A letter from her old Head Mistress when she had graduated, even a picture of her in cap and gown, receiving her degree from Oxford .... which Josephine had no idea how her mother could possibly have come by.

All of this shared with the brother she had no inkling existed until a few days ago.

Andrea had poured all her love for her husband and child, out in her writings to the son that she had lost forty years before.

It was all there.

Lovingly and patiently documented. For him to read.

Josephine was shocked to the very core.

If only her mother had shown her the journals while she had still been alive ....

Things might have been so very different.

There might have been time for them to be mother and daughter. At last ....

But, it wasn't just the photographs and the journals.

Josephine discovered still more treasures in the second box.

There were baby clothes. Her beautiful white satin Christening robe, covered in tiny pearls and such intricate and beautiful embroidery in a fine gold thread. A small silver rattle, a lock of her baby hair lovingly mounted in a beautiful antique 18 carat heart shaped gold locket. All the Christmas and birthday cards that she had sent to her mother over the years ....

The letters that she had struggled over from school in England, and college. An invitation to her wedding ....

The few, painful lines that she had scribbled in response to her mother's refusal to attend the ceremony, on the back of a picture of herself and Jeff taken outside the church. A beautiful picture of her baby daughter, Amy, and the brief note, in a very shaky hand, informing her mother that her granddaughter and son in law were dead ....

Yes.

It was all there.

Neatly documented for her brother.

And in directing Josephine to locate the boxes, and keep the contents safe for _**him**_, Andrea had paved the way for her daughter to discover the truth .... at last.

That her mother had not been the callous, bitter, hardhearted woman that she had always thought. Just a sad, lonely, desperately unhappy woman who could not forget the one tragic moment when she had given up her son.

Josephine even knew his name now.

The one that Andrea had given to him

And somehow, that made him even more .... real.

And the pain at not knowing her mother's love all these years .... even deeper ....

Andrea had called him ....

Joseph.

_**Dammit .... she even gave me**_** his**_** name!**_

In wanting to fill his place in her heart, Andrea had even named her new daughter after_** him ....**_

Now, Josephine knew, it was even more important that she find him.

Joseph.

That she give him the journals, and allow him to make the same voyage of discovery that she had just taken.

He _**must know**_ what losing him had done to her mother .... _**their**_ mother.

And consequently, her father. Herself.

_**He had to know.**_

_**He must be left with no doubt.**_

Andrea had loved him. Always loved him ....

_**Surely that would mean something to him?**_

_**Wouldn't it?**_

She had to find him.

_**She just had to ....**_

Because, until she did .... She would _**never**_ be whole.

/a\

"Father? Is there any word today from Peter ...." Vincent's voice trailed away suddenly as he walked from the vestibule to the metal steps at the entrance to Father's chamber, and became aware of the very strange expression on the older man's face, as he found him seated at his book covered desk.

"Father?" He asked, taking the steps two at a time and crossed the chamber to where Jacob Wells sat, concern on his beautiful leonine face. "What is it? What is wrong?" He asked softly, laying his big, fur covered hand atop Father's gnarled, half gloved one. "Tell me ...."

Jacob Wells remained silent for a long moment, then lifted his gaze from a scrap of paper on his desk.

"This came just a few moments ago. From Peter ...." Jacob explained in a weary voice.

"And what does it say, Father?" Vincent enquired, anticipation sparkling in his beautiful, soulful blue eyes.

"Peter has discovered the identity of the doctor offering the reward for information on Anna ...."

"Go on …." Vincent sighed expressively.

"Vincent ...." Jacob faltered, then reached up to gently pat his son's rough whiskered cheek affectionately.

"It is all right, Father ...." Vincent said in a soft, husky voice. "I am a big boy now. I can handle whatever it is you have to tell me."

After the incident the other day, when Jacob had initially told his son of this quest from the world Above, in to his past, Jacob would beg to differ, but he wisely kept his own counsel.

"Vincent .... it appears that this doctor .... Dr J. Grayson .... is a woman .... Josephine, and ...."

"Yes?

"And she has just been appointed to a position with the New York field office of the F.B.I."

"The F.B.I.?" Vincent echoed, a frown tugging at his heavy brow now.

"Federal Bureau Of Investigation ...."

"Yes. I know that, Father ...." Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation. "But why would someone connected with the F.B.I. be interested in Anna Pater, and the child that she found outside St Vincent's hospital, forty years ago?" He mused.

"I don't know, Vincent, but I don't like it ...." Jacob Wells sighed deeply. "Dear God .... what if William was right, Vincent? What if it is some kind of trap? God forbid! But ...."

He hesitated then, loathed to drag up the past, and the painful memories associated with it.

"What if it is something associated with .... with .... Catherine's abduction .... attempted murder .... her present condition?"

Father watched as Vincent swallowed hard, and his big, cobalt blue eyes misted over, briefly, before he turned away from Father and tried to pull himself together.

_**Dear God, it had been five years, and still just the sound of her name could reduce his son to tears .... **_Jacob thought sorrowfully, with a heavy heart.

Personally, he did not know how Vincent could keep up this soul destroying nocturnal bedside vigil.

It would have destroyed a lesser man, years ago.

And it _**was**_ soul destroying. Even if Vincent could not admit it.

Every morning, when dawn's first weak rays chased him away from her again, something deep inside him died.

Jacob could see it in his eyes. And it broke his poor old heart.

In the beginning, yes, there had been a vague hope ....

But now .... All these years later .... That hope grew smaller and smaller with the passing of each day .... week .... month ....

But so long as Vincent maintained that simply sitting with Catherine, reading to her, holding her hand and sharing the days' events with her, gave him some small measure of comfort, Jacob Wells had decided that it was wise for him to keep his own counsel, and to continue to support Vincent in his belief that one day, Catherine would recover.

Still, he couldn't help thinking, when would it start to get better for Vincent? When would he be able to look back on the time that they had shared, no matter how brief .... the love that they had had .... and remember the happiness, the warmth, the joy?

This limbo that he lived in was doing him no good at all.

Clinging to the tatters of a beautiful dream.

The last vestiges of hope.

Another life ....

"Catherine ...." Her name came out as the merest whisper. "Why? After all this time? No .... that was all cleared up .... a long time ago, Father ...." Vincent reminded in a low, husky voice, edged with emotion.

"Her .... kidnapping ..... the attempt on her life .... perhaps .... but there was also a lot of interest in the killings .... associated with the cases that she worked on at that time ...."

Vincent span around to regard Father with infinitely sad lapis lazuli eyes, his beautiful mane swishing around his broad shoulders.

"You mean .... the men .... that _**I**_ killed .... in trying to protect Catherine ...."

"I'm sorry, Vincent," Father lowered his gaze, not wanting to see the pain, guilt and anguish in his son's expressive eyes. "I don't mean to cause you pain, Vincent ...." He said softly.

"But why? What would be the point, after all this time?"

"These government agencies .... they don't need an excuse to go raking up the past, Vincent. They also don't much care for unsolved mysteries," Jacob Wells sighed deeply. "They have to try to find an explanation for everything ...."

"They will find nothing to link me with these cases. Diana saw to that."

"Ah yes .... Diana. I was wondering if you might approach her ...."

"No!" Vincent said sharply.

"But she might be able to help us ...." Father reasoned.

"I said no."

"Vincent ...."

"Father .... leave it." Vincent began to pace back and forth across the chamber.

"Why Vincent? Diana is with the F.B.I. now too. She might be able to find out what this woman, Josephine Grayson, wants," Jacob Wells reasoned softly, watching his son's anxious pacing back and forth with a frown creasing his brow.

"I said no, Father. Can you not leave it at that?" Vincent stopped his prowling and regarded Father with imploring big aqua eyes.

When Father continued to regard him with curiosity, Vincent let out a long, deep, sigh and resumed his pacing.

"I do not wish to involve Diana. It would not be fair to her. Besides .... we no longer correspond," Vincent explained hurriedly.

"I am sure that she wouldn't mind, Vincent. In a situation like this ...."

"_**No**_!" Vincent bellowed, taking Jacob aback, and then closed his eyes and took a deep breath, expelling it slowly, before opening his eyes once more.

"My apologies, Father, but, just this once, please accept that to see Diana again .... would be too .... painful for me ...."

"Of course. I'm sorry, Vincent," Father acquiesced softly. "I should have realized," he murmured, drawing Vincent's wide blue gaze.

"Father, I owe Diana so much. She killed the man responsible for what happened to Catherine .... for Jacob's abduction .... helped me to get my son back from his clutches and she knows how deeply grateful I am to her, but, seeing her .... reminds me .... of how Catherine was lost to me .... how I very nearly did not find Jacob .... and the pain associated with that time .... hangs between us ...."

"I know, Vincent. Forgive me?" Vincent merely lowered his gaze. "I just thought ...."

"Yes .... but .... not this time. Not now. Too much time has passed since she was last here. She has a new life now, and she does not need the added complication of having me back in her life," Vincent intoned solemnly.

"Meanwhile, that still leaves us with the mystery of this woman from the F.B.I. ...." Jacob sighed deeply.

"Did you not say that she had only just been appointed?"

"Mmm?" Jacob frowned.

"My point, Father, is that her enquiries in to Anna Pater's whereabouts could _**not**_be _**official**_. Why would an F.B.I. agent need to use the newspapers to offer a reward for information?"

"I had not thought of that ...."

"She could be acting on behalf of my .... my mother ...."

"Perhaps. But we will still need to proceed with caution."

"Indeed."

"Then we do still proceed?"

"Yes Father. I am so close to knowing the truth now. I cannot give up."

"Very well. But _**how**_ do we proceed? Jacob sighed softly, scratching absently at his beard.

"Perhaps someone should meet with her? Try to determine her reasons for this quest?" Vincent suggested innocently.

_**"Someone?"**_ Father eyed him with deep sapphire blue eyes, eyes that were full of incredulity.

"Well .... not I .... for obvious reasons. Not yet ...."

"Then whom?"

Vincent continued to regard Father with a steady blue gaze.

"Me?" Jacob exclaimed. "Oh thank you!"

"You are the most logical choice Father," Vincent reasoned softly. "And you know that you are dying of curiosity!" He added for good measure.

"Vincent .... You know what they say about _**curiosity**_ ...." Jacob let out a deep sigh. _**"It killed the cat**_!"

/a\

"Jacob?" Mary regarded her husband suspiciously, silently admitting to herself that he cut a very fine figure in his 'topsiders' clothes of double breasted grey suit, snowy white shirt, with crisp collar, grey waistcoat, grey Fedora hat in one hand, sturdy solid wooden walking cane with a silver handle and tip in the other ....

But his destination. The world Above. Troubled her. Troubled her deeply.

He was too old for the long trek to the surface.

And what if something happened to him?

"Ah, Mary! Good, there you are," he greeted her with a soft smile, and a peck on the cheek. "I'm afraid that the tie has defeated me, my dear ...." He sighed as he pulled away from her.

Mary smiled benignly at him, and set about retying the knot of his plain pastel blue necktie, and straightening his pristine collar.

"Thank you, my dear."

"Jacob?" She was loathed to ask him outright about his destination Above, knowing that he would get around to telling her in his own good time, but, she had heard about his recent confrontation with William, and she suspected that this trip Above had something to do with that.

She was very cross with William for his interference, although, she had understood his motives.

But that was no excuse. William knew how important this was to Vincent. And therefore, to Father too.

"It's all right, Mary," Jacob tried to soothe, but he could clearly see the worry in her beautiful face. "I have an errand to run .... for Vincent .... He has asked me to see this doctor. The one offering the reward ...."

"To undo William's handiwork?"

_**What was Vincent thinking about .... **_Mary thought to herself in mild irritation.

"Partly. But, Vincent was also correct when he said that I was dying of curiosity ...." He smiled softly again.

"And?"

"I want to know what she wants. Why she is doing this. I feel .... I feel that I need to _**see**_ her. If I can look her in the eye, I'll know better how to advise Vincent in this. If it is wise to follow it through ...."

"I would expect nothing less from you, Jacob. You're his father .... and you love him ...."

"Yes Mary. I do."

"I understand. If you see her, you'll get a measure of her ...."

"Yes. Yes, my dear. That's it exactly," He marveled at how well she knew him, understood him, what drove him.

"Be careful," she advised sagely.

"I will …." He pressed another gentle kiss to her soft cheek. "Vincent will accompany me to the Central Park threshold," he explained, hoping to allay her worries and fears for his well being.

"I should hope so too ...." She smiled then. "Jacob ...."

"Don't worry my love. All will be well, and I will be back before sundown, I promise."

"I'll keep you to that, and have hot tea on the table waiting for you," she smiled softly, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately. "Jacob .... It's been a while, my love .... the city has changed ...."

"And I am not streetwise?"

"Well ...."

"I am going to a payphone to make a telephone call .... which reminds me ...." He patted his pockets and frowned, then spied the piece of folded newsprint with the precious telephone number printed on it, and placed it in the pocket of his jacket, along with a small gift from his grandson, which young Jacob had offered to him with a huge grin, a few minutes before Mary had returned.

"And then I am going to find a bench in the park, and sit and watch the world go by ...." He grinned.

"Be sure that is _**all**_ you do, mind. You're too old to be chasing all the pretty girls ...."

"_**You**_ are the only pretty girl I wish to chase," he chuckled softly, reaching out to claim her lips once more, then drew away, still grinning at the becoming flush on his dear wife's face.

It still amazed him .... her ability to be so coy and so charming .... even after three years of marriage .... and he loved her dearly.

He also knew that her concerns were genuine. And they were valid.

He wasn't a young man anymore, and a trip up to the surface wasn't the simple jaunt it had been. Even six years ago, it had been a struggle.

But Vincent would be there to support him, to chat with, and he would come when Father sent word on the pipes, to bring him home again.

That left the time in the park. And the meeting with this woman.

If she would agree to come today.

If not ….

Then he would have to go through all of this again .... tomorrow.

Or the day after ....

Or the day after that ....

At that moment, Vincent entered the chamber, halting just inside the vestibule at the top of the four metal steps, catching the tail end of the conversation, and the tender embrace between the older, loving couple.

"Ah, Vincent ...." Father greeted him with a jovial smile.

"Ready, Father?"

"Yes my boy. Ready, willing and able ...." Father chuckled.

"Then .... shall we go?"

"Lead on McDuff!"

Father limped slowly towards the steps, where Vincent was swinging his cloak around his broad shoulders and rearranging his hair over the hood, and climbing the steps very carefully he joined Vincent at the top.

"I will see you later, my love," Jacob turned back to Mary, a warm smile on his lips and a merry twinkle in his eyes.

"Yes Jacob. Tea .... five o'clock, prompt."

"I will be home long before then. It gets dark early up there these days ...." He reminded gently.

"Of course. It's been so long .... I had forgotten," She sighed softly. "Be well, Jacob."

"You too. Well, come along then my boy! Time is wasting …."

/a\

"Father ...."

"Yes, Vincent ...." Jacob sighed deeply.

The journey to the upper levels of the tunnels had been long and painfully slow, despite Vincent's support, and light hearted banter about young Jacob.

However, the closer to the world Above, they got, the more pensive and quiet Vincent grew, causing Father to wonder just how long it had been since his son had trodden this particular path.

"You will be careful ...." Vincent regarded Father with steady, big expressive china blue eyes, and Jacob could not suppress a smile.

_**How many times over the years had he said exactly the same thing to his son?**_

"Yes. I will be careful. How much trouble do you think an old man like me can get in to in the park on a winter's day, Vincent?" He joked.

"You would be surprised .... when the old man in question is _**you**_ Father ...."

"Cheek! You're not too old for a spanking, my boy ...."

"_**That**_ I would like to see ...." Vincent chuckled softly, grateful for Father's attempts to lighten the mood, although his heart was heavy, his chest tight with emotion held rigidly in check.

It had been so long, but he could still see Catherine at every turn.

So vibrant. So alive. Happy and oh so beautiful, as she had been as they had journeyed together, Below, to his chamber .... their special place under the concert area in the park .... the falls .... Father's chamber ....

Not since the major repairs to the Central Park threshold, required after Gabriel's hunter, Snow, had walked the tunnels with a gun, bent on killing Vincent, had been completed, had Vincent used that particular entrance.

"Father ...."

"Yes, Vincent ...." Father sighed in exasperation now.

"You have the hotline telephone number?"

"Yes. I have the number." Jacob confirmed ruefully, patting his jacket pocket.

"And you have change? For the telephone?"

"Yes, Vincent. I have change ...." Father tried to smother a smile then. He hadn't seen Vincent this animated in a long time. "Young Jacob lent me a quarter ...." He grinned then.

"My son, the banker!" Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward.

Young Jacob would never be rich, but he would never need for anything either.

Yet, despite that, the youngster seemed to have a unique knack for finding lost pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters, anything shinny that once dropped could roll down a crack in the sidewalk and straight in to young Jacob's clutches!

"Father ...." Vincent grew serious now.

"It will be all right, Vincent." Father assured. "I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now ...."

"There are .... no words ...." Vincent confessed on a deep sigh.

"I can go on alone from here ...."

"Yes," Vincent gently pulled this beloved old man to him, his heart fit to burst with love for him, and gratitude for everything that he had done for him in the last forty years .... was still doing even now .... everything that he had sacrificed in the name of love .... love for him .... and was still prepared to sacrifice ....

"Father, know that I love you. Know that whatever happens from this moment on .... I have .... and always will .... love you."

"I know that, Vincent ...." Father returned his son's embrace, his voice tight with emotion.

"You _**are**_ .... father .... mother .... brother .... confidante .... friend ... _**my father**_ .... always ...."

"Yes, Vincent, _**always**_. Come what may, and I am, and have always been very proud to call you _**my son**_. Now ...."

Father drew away reluctantly, and reached up with a noticeably shaky hand to pat Vincent's rough whiskered ginger cheek.

"I should go or the day will be over before I have even begun ...."

"I will be here when you return ...." Vincent offered.

"No need. Don't wait around, Vincent. I'll send word on the pipes ...."

"I wish ...." Vincent's voice trailed away.

"That you were coming with me?"

"Yes."

"So do I, my boy. So do I. Now ...."

Jacob Wells stepped back from his son, and turned to face the junction door, as Vincent reached up and pulled the lever that activated the opening mechanism. The circular metal portal opened slowly, revealing a metal gate beyond, which Vincent also opened, having to push hard, as the hinges had rusted with age and lack of use.

"Later ...."

"Later. Father .... Be careful ...."

"I will ...."

Vincent watched as Father limped slowly away from him, his heart in his mouth, continuing to stare after him, long after he had disappeared into the daylight at the end of the cement drainage culvert, and then, with a deep, shuddering sigh, Vincent crossed back through the circular portal, pulling the metal gate shut behind him, as he reached up for the lever to close the junction door, his thoughts with Father, and what he would discover in the next few hours.

/a\

Jacob Wells emerged, breathless and winded from the cement drainage culvert in the heart of Central Park, and cautiously limped through the puddle of water and accumulated rotted leaves lying in the strip of cement that was the off run, as quickly as he could, lest he be seen.

He did not slow down until he reached the relative safety of a tree lined pathway, then hobbled to the nearest bench, where he sat down heavily, panting, having to concentrate to draw in precious air.

_**Dear God, when did I get so old?**_

_**So frail ....**_

He was getting too old to be traipsing up here to the world Above.

Hopefully, this would be the last time.

_**Frailty is a state of mind, Jacob .... **_He admonished himself silently, although he wasn't sure that he really believed that.

_**If you start thinking that you are old, then you might just start acting like an old man**_!

And he wasn't ready to accept that yet. Not by a long chalk.

Dear Mary, she had been wise to be so concerned over him.

_**You're not past it yet, Wells ....**_ He told himself sternly, a small smile creeping in to the corners of his lips, as he thought about his beloved wife, and the way she got his old heart pumping with her coy smiles and her beguiling looks, and her tender kisses.

Yes ....

Hopefully he would have no need to come Above again. He had more than enough to keep him happy and satisfied, not to mention busy, Below.

However ....

_**This**_ was a different matter.

He had not wanted to entrust this meeting to anyone else.

He wanted a face to face meeting with this woman, Josephine Grayson.

He wanted to look her in the eyes. Get a sense of her, as Mary had quite rightly pointed out.

To get a feel for her reasons for looking for a child abandoned forty years before. A child who should, for all intents and purposes, have been long forgotten by the world.

Jacob had always had good instincts about people, and had learned to trust them all his life. Sometimes, he had been proved spectacularly wrong, as in the case of Catherine Chandler, and no-one had been more glad about that than he, but they were rare occasions, almost always clouded by strong emotions.

Jacob knew that when he saw this woman, he would know how to progress. He would know how best to advise Vincent.

But, he also had to keep in mind that the ultimate decision was Vincent's, and Vincent's alone.

He could offer his son advise.

And he would just have to accept whatever Vincent chose to do with that advice, and support him in that choice.

But ....

First of all, he had to get his breath back.

And then he had to find a public telephone.

And then he had to work out what he would say to this woman, when he came face to face with her.

Did he offer her a slim hope that her search was not in vain?

Or, did he try to dissuade her?

Reinforce the point that both Anna Pater and the child were dead.

At least until he could discover what her motivation was.

He had a lot to think about.

Not least of all the futures of both his beloved son and grandson.

And the lives of all those who shared his world Below.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO.**

_**FRIDAY 30TH DECEMBER, 1994 - NEW YORK CITY.**_

Josephine Grayson sat with her elbows resting on the Mahogany writing bureau in the drawing room, her chin resting in her cupped hands, as she stared forlornly out of the window at the street below.

Her heart was heavy, her mind still caught up in the discoveries that she had made in her mother's boxes of treasure.

She had not slept well, and when she had finally slept, in the wee small hours, she had dreamed of the happy family life that she had always longed for, her parents, sharing loving looks and tender caresses, happy and loving, just as she had always hoped for, herself, knowing the warmth of their love, _**both**_ of them loving her as she had always dreamed.

And her brother, on the periphery, his face always just out of focus, a pale blur, watching, and she could actually feel his happiness, his awe and love, watching the happy family scene, smiling on all of them, touched by their happiness, seemingly giving them his blessing ....

She had woken late, feeling groggy and melancholy, her head dull, her heart heavy, and it had been an effort just to get out of bed.

Tomorrow was New Year's Eve and on January 2, she would start her new job with the F.B.I.

And, she had been forced, in the last twenty four hours, to make a decision about the hotline, one that had left her feeling very low and despondent.

If no-one called with anything concrete by the end of tomorrow afternoon, that being, December 31st, then she would be forced to close down the office, and let Maureen and Olivia go.

_**Happy New Year ladies ....**_

With all the pressures of adjusting to a new job, Josephine knew that she would not have time to do justice to the search, and as the hotline had offered nothing but disappointment, she did not see the point of opening it up again after the holiday.

To say that she was disappointed was an understatement.

She had started out with so much hope .....

But ....

Sad though it was ....

It _**was**_ the right thing to do.

After all, she did not have unlimited resources.

She had had to face facts.

There had been plenty of time for someone to come forward ....

She simply had to accept that_** if**_ her brother _**was**_ alive …. He was content to remain forgotten.

Anonymous ....

His way of punishing the woman who had abandoned him all those years ago?

Perhaps ....

But it was a punishment that the sister that he was blissfully unaware of did not deserve.

She heard the telephone ring, and let out a deep sigh, knowing that Mrs Ludlow would get it.

Josephine could not believe that her quest was over so soon.

She had been so hopeful only days ago, but then ....

That call that had come in, about her search being pointless because both the woman and the child were dead.

She had been so sure that it was a smoke screen. A false trail.

How then had she lost hope so quickly?

Why had her hopes suddenly turned to ashes?

She still believed with all her heart that he was alive, but ....

How to reach him?

To reassure him, and those around him, loving him, protecting him, that all she really wanted was to know him. Have a chance to get to know him .... And love him.

And give him the same opportunity .... To know her. Get to know her ....

Love her ....

A tear slid slowly down from the corner of her eye, and Josephine closed her eyes and squeezed them tightly shut.

_**I tried Mother .... I really tried. But I can't make him come to me. If he wants to remain hidden ....**_

_**I'm sorry. I failed you ....**_

_**Again ....**_

"Dr Grayson?" Mrs Ludlow's voice broke in to Josephine's thoughts, and brought her back to the present. She quickly wiped away her tears, and pulled herself together enough to face the older woman.

"Yes Mrs Ludlow?"

"There is a telephone call for you, doctor."

"Thank you," Josephine sighed deeply.

Perhaps it was Patrick O'Shea calling to see how she was. He had promised to get in touch, but she had heard nothing from him in almost a week now.

Or, maybe it was someone from the Bureau?

She rose stiffly, smoothing down her long pleated black silk skirt and matching black sweater with small pink rose buds around the neckline, both of which had suited her dark mood when she had dressed this morning, and walked slowly out in to the black and white checkered hallway and picked up the telephone receiver.

"Josephine Grayson."

"Dr Grayson, gee, you don't sound too great, doctor ....." The voice on the other end of the line responded to her lackluster tone of voice. "Hi, it's Maureen, over at the office ...."

"Yes, Maureen?" Josephine sighed despondently. Was she about to hear about another crank call ....

"Doctor, Olivia has a man on the other line, he says that he must meet with you. He won't give her any details, but insists that he must meet with you, today ...." Maureen explained excitedly.

"Tell me what his exact words were, Maureen ...." Josephine demanded, tears suddenly welling up in her green/gold eyes, as she suddenly had a brainstorm, and heard brief snatches of conversation between the two middle aged women at the other end of the line.

"Dr Grayson, Olivia says that he told her to tell Dr Grayson that he must see _**her**_, speak with _**her**_ .... _**she**_ knows about what ...." Maureen imparted verbatim.

"Keep him talking, Maureen."

"Yes doctor. Olivia is trying, but apparently he's in a payphone, and only has a quarter."

"Then get the number so that we can call him back, if necessary. Damn! I hate these three way conversations!"

Josephine was smiling through her tears now, her heart pounding in her ears, knocking frantically against her ribs.

_**At last ....**_

_**Thank God ....**_

_**At last ....**_

_**Something positive ....**_

_**At last ....**_

And how did she know?

Because the caller knew that she was a _**woman ....**_

And how did _**he**_ know that?

How _**could**_ he have _**known**_ that?

Her flier and press announcement had been deliberately ambiguous.

Deliberately genderless.

The only way that he could have known was if he had done some checking on her.

And _**why**_ would he do that?

Because_** he**_ was alive ....

Joseph ....

And the caller wanted to know what she wanted.

Wanted to protect the boy .... man ....

Her brother ....

Only someone with a vested interest would go to so much trouble, and take so much time to make contact.

She was sure of it.

_**A breakthrough at last!**_

"Dr Grayson?"

"Yes, Maureen?" Josephine pulled herself together quickly.

_**Lord, she was on an emotion roller coaster ride these days!**_

"He says that he wants to meet with you in Central Park, by the Carousel .... damn .... Oops, I'm sorry, doctor, he ran out of money," Maureen explained.

"Did you get the number?"

"Sorry doctor ...."

"Never mind, Maureen. Thank you .... looks like I'm going for a walk in the park ...." Her voice suddenly trailed away, as a thought occurred to Josephine. "Did he say how I would recognize him?"

"No. Sorry doctor," Josephine then heard a brief snatch of conversation between the two middle aged women, who had spent the best part of the last two weeks dealing with silence, boredom and lonely old people wanting a shoulder to cry on, waiting for just this one call ....

Josephine could have kissed them both and knew that she would slip a little something extra in to their paychecks, to show her appreciation and gratitude, and to take the sting out of winding up the hotline and closing down the office.

"Olivia says that he sounded kind of old," Maureen imparted as she returned to the line. "You know the way older folks use language," She tried to explain.

"Thank you, Maureen."

"Oh, and one more thing, doctor, he had an accent. English, Olivia thinks ...."

"That's terrific, Maureen. Thank Olivia for me."

"I will doctor. You certainly sound better now. Please let us know how you get on," Maureen added, somewhat sheepishly.

"I'll stop by tomorrow with your paychecks. We'll talk then ...."

"Goodbye doctor."

"Bye Maureen."

A short time later, Josephine hurried down the wide central staircase, clad in low heeled black leather boots, a heavy black wool coat and a dark blue woolen scarf wound around her neck, pulling on navy thermal woolen gloves as she strode purposefully across the hall.

"Will you be back for lunch, doctor?" Mrs Ludlow asked in soft tones, still feeling a little awkward that she had caught the younger woman crying earlier, although, on second glance, Mrs Ludlow had to admit that the doctor looked a lot better.

There was more color in her cheeks, and a spark of life in her beautiful green/gold eyes.

The telephone call seemed to have made all the difference. Whoever it was that had called had certainly lifted the doctor's spirits.

It had been a woman on the other end of the line.

A friend?

A new work colleague?

No matter. It was good to see that she had been lifted out of the doldrums.

Prepared to dislike this young woman in the beginning, despite what Mrs Reeve had told her, Mrs Ludlow had found herself, grudgingly it had to be said, admiring her devotion to her mother. Her love and tenderness and support had touched the old housekeeper deeply and although they might never grow to be friends, the older woman was at least now prepared to accept that Dr Grayson was the mistress of the house now, and should be treated with the respect that that position deserved.

"I don't know, Mrs Ludlow," Josephine smiled softly, appreciating that in the past few days, the older woman's attitude had soften toward her, just a little. "I don't think so ...."

"Should I ask Mr Ludlow to go for the car, doctor?"

"No, thank you Mrs Ludlow. It's a pleasant enough morning ...."

And so it was, for December. The sun had broken through earlier, and the chilly wind dropped to a more pleasant gentle breeze. It was more like late October out there than the last but one day of December.

"I feel like a walk in the park," Josephine intended to walk just a little way, to the end of the next block, and then hail a cab.

"It would be no trouble, doctor ...."

"I know that, Mrs Ludlow, and I do appreciate the thought, but I've been cooped up here for days, and the fresh air will do me good."

"Very well, doctor."

Mrs Ludlow watched the young woman pick up her shoulder purse, then cross the black and white checkered tiled hallway on a jaunty stride. She let out a soft sigh as the doctor actually skipped down the stoop to the sidewalk, and walked quickly down the street.

Mrs Reeve had been right. Her daughter did have a good heart.

After Philip's assurances earlier in the week, that she did intend to keep both of them on, whilst she still lived here in New York, and would then make certain that they were retained by the new owners of the house, or seeing to it that they were financially secure in their retirement, had gone a long way to settling Esther Ludlow's nerves, and had made her more inclined to give the younger woman a chance to prove herself as an employer.

She had allowed herself to begin to understand the younger woman's grief, and pain, and had come to admire her dignity, strength and courage, and respect her determination to build a new life for herself.

As to that other nonsense in the newspapers ....

Only time would tell if that would bring joy, or only more pain.

Which ever it turned out to be, it was none of their business, Alfred Ludlow had told her, and if it helped to keep the good doctor here in New York indefinitely, then that could only be good news for both of them.

Mrs Reeve had tried to warn her of the difficulties ahead, but Esther had not really understood the urgency.

So there was a half brother …. And maybe Dr Grayson would find him, but it was unlikely, after forty years.

And if she did find him? So what? What would really change in the household?

Now that Dr Grayson had taken a job here, with the F.B.I. the Ludlow's future was looking more rosy by the day.

Even the doctor herself seemed to be settling into her new life.

Mrs Ludlow smiled softly to herself as she returned to the kitchen with it's sparkling sink and pristine work surfaces, everything neatly stored in cupboards, the pantry bulging with shelves of dry goods and canned goods and other essential provisions, the freezer bursting with vegetables, ice cream and other perishables, and thought to herself that Mrs Reeve had indeed had every reason to be proud of her daughter.

And Mrs Ludlow suddenly thought that with Dr Grayson as mistress of the house life from now on would never be dull.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE.**

Josephine Grayson quickly alighted from her cab and strode confidently in to the Park. Last week's snow had almost completely gone now, except from the odd nook or cranny where the weak winter sun did not penetrate, and the walk across the vast expanses of scrub and lackluster grass, and following tree and shrub lined paths, was pleasant enough, although Josephine's mind was not fully focused on her destination, a place that she had rarely been allowed to visit as a child, and once or twice she had stop to get her bearings, finally stopping a lone brave jogger in grey sweats and sneakers, to ask him the way to the old Carousel.

When she eventually arrived, it was to find the old iron gate closed and padlocked, showing signs of rust and old age, and Josephine found herself wondering if anyone even used the Carousel any more.

Of course, she could not see anything of the old Carousel it's self, locked away as it was, in the old shed that housed the highly painted horses and the machinery that created the music and the magic.

She cast a quick look about her, and her heart sank.

She was very much alone.

She let out a deep sigh of disappointment, and for a moment, leaned heavily against the metal gate.

Had the caller lost his nerve? She wondered silently, aware of the throb of traffic in the background, and the occasional twitter of some brave bird in the boughs of nearby trees.

Or was he, even now, watching her from some place close by, hidden from her view, debating whether to reveal himself to her, or not?

She was beginning to think that _**he**_ .... the caller .... liked to play games.

Waiting games.

Games of cat and mouse.

Games of intrigue.

Well, _**she**_ knew how to play a game or two herself.

She could wait.

She could be patient.

He had asked her to come. To meet with him, on his terms.

Well, she was here. All her cards on the table. Out in the open ....

The ball was in his court now.

All she could do was wait and see.

It felt like she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

She could wait a little longer.

/a\

Just across a small patch of muddy grass on a low, rusty old metal bench, concealed by the thick foliage of four medium sized fir trees, Jacob Wells carefully watched the approach to the old Carousel ground, scrutinizing each new person that approached, only to then pass by without a second thought.

Jacob had no idea from where in the city Josephine Grayson would come, so he had prepared himself to wait, all day if he had to.

After about half an hour of sitting on the cold metal bench, his old leg and hip began to ache, and with a grimace of pain, he rose stiffly and hobbled around, taking a short walk to ease the pain and the stiffness, walking just out of range of view from the approach, and then, keeping to the cover of the foliage of the conifers, and the shadows that they conveniently cast, he stood, leaning heavily against his cane.

At last, after a further fifteen minutes, his patience was rewarded.

Jacob spotted a dark figure approaching, a little uncertainly, looking around from time to time, as though unsure of her precise location.

She was reasonably tall, slender, clad in a black woolen coat and dark scarf, over a black pleated ankle length, silk skirt and low heeled black leather boots.

From this distance, Jacob's old eyes, accustomed as they were to the candle and kerosene lit gloom of Below all these years, could not make out her facial features, but he could see that she had fairly long dark brown hair, intricately woven into a long, French braid.

And he could tell from the way that she walked, carried herself, her bearing, that she was a young woman.

Too young to be Vincent's birth mother, at any rate.

This brought a frown to his heavy brow.

Why would someone so young have any interest in the events of forty years ago?

She probably hadn't even been born then, Jacob mused silently, his eyes following her progress, as she walked directly to the rusted, padlocked old iron gate, then looked about her carefully, before leaning heavily against the metal work of the gate.

She could not be doing this for herself.

So-o-o .... who was she working for?

And why?

Jacob Wells' thoughts raced.

What was there to be gained by continuing with this folly?

Except knowledge. And the truth.

_**Truth?**_

Perhaps?

Perhaps this woman was here on behalf of Vincent's birth mother, because she was either too elderly, or too infirm to make the trip to the park herself?

One thing was for sure, Jacob told himself resignedly. There was nothing to be gained by standing here in the shadows.

He had wanted a face to face meeting.

And there she was.

It was time to confront the past.

Vincent's past ....

And his future ....

And the young woman in black held the key to both doors ….

/a\

When nothing happened after about ten minutes, Josephine grew tired of staring at the vast expanse of coarse grass and naked trees, reaching out with their spindly limbs toward an unusually clear blue winter sky, and turned around to lean forward against the old rusted iron gate, casting her mind back to her childhood, when her nanny had brought her here on warm, sunny summer afternoons, to ride the Carousel. It had been a rare treat, after kindergarten, and even rarer after she had started grade school.

Even now, confronted with one of so few happy memories, it was hard to believe that her childhood had been so joyless.

She hoped that her brother had faired better.

Her dearest hope was that he had been raised by people who loved him, and knew how to show it, people who wanted to show him the world and give him all the good things, all the pleasures, all the wonders of the world.

If one of them had known happiness, at least something good would have come out of Andrea's selflessness.

Josephine suddenly caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, and moved her head slowly in that direction, to find an elderly man, with a very pronounced limp, clad in a grey top coat, over a grey double breasted suit, and a dark grey Fedora hat, looking for all the world as if he had just stepped off the set of a 1950's movie, making his way, slowly and obviously, painfully, toward her.

Her mouth was suddenly dry, her heart beating erratically in her ears, as she watched his very slow progress toward her, wanting to move, to meet him half way, but unsure how he would react to such an obvious show of sympathy and pity.

She did not want to do anything that would set him against her.

She needed him.

Needed to now what drove him.

Where he stood.

What influence he had.

He continued to cover the ground between them, slowly, but with a purpose, a grimace of pain on his darkly bearded face, breathless, but a clear determination in his dark, sapphire blue eyes.

At last, he stood before her, recovering his breath, leaning heavily against a beautifully crafted old dark wood cane, with a smooth silver handle and spiky silver tip, shifting his weight from foot to foot, often, as those intelligent dark blue eyes regarded her curiously.

"Dr Grayson?" He asked at last, and Josephine heard a gentle, pleasant voice, edged with a slight American accent, but her practiced ear had no trouble detecting what Olivia had heard too, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had originally been a cultured British accent.

"Yes. John Pater?"

"Good Lord, no!" He exclaimed, the Englishness of his accent even more pronounced, indignation sparkling in those big, dark eyes. "_**He**_ is dead ...."

"Your name?"

"Is unimportant."

Josephine waited for him to continue, but he remained stubbornly silent, watching her carefully, taking in her neat, stylish, understated appearance, as she stood before him, waiting patiently.

Jacob Wells was impressed with what he saw.

Yes, she was young, probably no more than mid thirties. An open, honest face, oval in shape, a clear complexion, long, elegant neck, and the most unusual eyes that he had ever seen, dark green, with tiny flecks of gold around the irises.

Her gaze never wavered as she regarded him with equal curiosity.

There was strength in that face, Jacob acknowledged silently to himself.

Patience.

Determination.

But, try as he might, he could find nothing sinister. No malice.

Only curiosity.

And hope ....

"Thank you for coming ...." He broke the silence between them at last.

"Thank you for calling ...."

Her features softened into a small smile, and he could hear the English edge to her accent now. She had a nice voice, melodic, rich, and she carried herself with grace and dignity.

Yes ....

Jacob Wells liked what he saw.

And as he regarded her thoughtfully, Jacob began to sense that she would hold nothing back from him.

That she was here for answers too.

Now it was just a case of waiting to see which of them would make the opening gambit.

And instinct was telling him that she would make a worthy opponent.

Here ....

And across the chessboard.

Perhaps he would have a chance to find out. Some other time.

"What happened to Anna Pater?" She asked at last, her patience at last having run out. "Someone called the hotline .... to tell me that she was dead .... and so was the child ...."

"The truth ...." Half truth, Jacob thought silently.

"Was that you?"

"No ...."

"But you know who it was?" She continued to probe in soft tones.

"A well meaning, if somewhat misguided friend ...."

"All right ...." Josephine let out a deep sigh. "I will concede that Anna Pater may be dead, but not the child ...." Her voice remained soft, but her eyes held a steely determination, that seemed somehow familiar to Jacob Wells, although he did not know from where.

"I cannot be held responsible for what _**you**_ believe ...." Jacob bristled, cutting her off sharply. "What is Anna to you?" He demanded.

"What is she to you?" Josephine countered swiftly.

"A friend," Jacob Wells sighed deeply now, forcing his gaze away from her briefly. "Would you mind if we walked a little? My leg ...."

"Of course not ...."

They began to walk, slowly, with no particular destination in mind, Jacob needing to keep moving so that his leg would not seize up.

"You were saying ...." Josephine reminded him gently, after they had covered several yards of soggy grass, which squelched under their feet, the ground saturated from the recent snow and rain, without him picking up where he had left off.

"Yes ...."

He let out a deep sigh, and drew in an even deeper breath, causing Josephine to wonder if their pace was too much for him. However, she wisely kept her own counsel, and waited for him to gather his thoughts.

"Anna .... and John, were friends of mine. A long time ago ...." Jacob began, not looking at her face as they walked, side by side, preferring instead to concentrate on the ground beneath his feet, which oozed dark, muddy water with every step he took.

"Anna was .... a good woman ...." He sighed again softly. "The only thing that she wanted .... needed .... to make her happiness complete .... was a child ...." He explained in a low, husky voice now. "When she found the infant ...."

"Found?" Josephine challenged softly, with a frown creasing her brow.

"Yes. Found. That is what she told me .... led me to believe ...." Jacob Wells continued. "And I had no reason to doubt her word .... her sincerity," he cast a disapproving glance in Josephine's direction then, before returning his concentration to the soggy ground on which they were walking.

There was a cement path just up ahead, and the going would be easier then, but until he got there, Jacob knew that he would have to be extra careful. He could not afford to take a tumble Above, even if he was in the company of a doctor.

"I'm sorry .... please go on."

"When she found the child .... Anna was overjoyed, you see, she had recently lost a baby, and discovered that there would not be another chance for her to conceive again ...." Jacob explained stone faced. "However, her elation did not last long. The child was weak .... sickly .... frail .... and when he grew sick, he did not have the strength to overcome the illness. When the child died .... Anna was .... devastated ...."

"And her husband? John?" Josephine probed, and Jacob thought that he could hear a certain hardness in her voice as she asked about John Pater.

"Distraught. Destroyed ...."

Unhinged was probably a better way to describe John's reaction to the death of his own child, miscarried before he even had a chance to develop into something resembling a child, and when Anna had brought Vincent Below, there had been something in John's eyes .... Something terrible to behold, as he grew more and more obsessed with the idea that Vincent was his son. An obsession that had eventually led to his death, but not before he had wrought havoc on Vincent's mental condition, and his delicate emotional state, and terrorized a community that had once regarded him so highly.

"I'll just bet he was!" Josephine retorted, which elicited a frown from her companion, as it was the first time that she had raised her voice even slightly.

"Just what is your interest in this?" Jacob asked her pointedly, coming to an abrupt halt, and leaning heavily against his handsome walking cane.

"What is yours?" Josephine countered softly

"I was .... somewhat disturbed to find someone digging up the past. My friends very private and personal history .... after almost forty years ...."

"You were concerned .... curious .... It must have come as something of a shock ...."

"Yes ...." Jacob conceded. "Is there some point to all of this?" He pinned her with a cool blue gaze now, turning slightly to face her.

"You tell me …." She sighed softly then, returning his gaze with her own steady green/gold one. "You must have thought so. You took your time in making contact with me. Took the time, and went to the trouble of doing a little digging of your own ...." She paused briefly to take a breath, her gaze never wavering.

"And _**that**_ is the only reason that I am here. The only reason I had to hope that you might be genuine, and prepared to talk to me, willing to help me ...." She paused again, watching for any reaction from the old man, but his face remained expressionless, unmoved.

"I came because I knew that _**you knew**_ that I was a woman, but how could you know that, hm? There was no Christian name on the flier or in the press. A deliberate ploy on my part, to dissuade time wasters and chancers," she explained in a soft voice.

"I wanted no personal details. To protect my identity, and no indication of gender. So, to know _**that**_, you had to have done some checking. Friends in high places? And why the _**need**_ to check? Why go to all the trouble? Because you were worried .... afraid ...."

"I was concerned about two people who are no longer around to defend themselves. They were good people. They were .... my friends ...."

"And the child?" She asked softly, her beautiful green/gold eyes pleading with him now to trust her, to tell her the truth.

"Dead ...." Jacob whispered, and this time he saw the pain in her eyes, and felt the twist of pain in his own heart at having to deny the son that he loved so dearly.

"How?" Her voice was so low that he barely caught the question.

"Heart failure."

"I don't believe you ...."

"Believe what you will. I think we're done here ...." Jacob bristled again, unaccustomed to having his word questioned.

"Are we?"

"Yes," Jacob said defiantly.

"I don't think so. I think you need answers too. Answers that only _**I**_ can provide. You _**will**_ contact me again ...."

"Do not hold your breath ...." Jacob retorted indignantly, and turned quickly on his heel, but she caught up with him in two quick strides.

"Will you please leave me alone!" Jacob glared at her, regretting the small loss of control over his temper already. He had learned so little and what he had learned would do nothing to help Vincent, or assuage his curiosity.

He had to know more, but on _**his**_ terms.

"No. You asked me here," she reminded him gently. "I'm here. So talk to me. _**Talk**_ to _**me**_! _**Please**_!" She implored, emphasizing the words without having raised her voice to him, Jacob noted. "Please .... this is important to me ...."

"Why?"

"Why did you come here today? If you are not prepared to talk to me .... to even meet me half way?"

"You have given me nothing ...."

"And you have given me nothing! Only that the Paters were your friends. That Anna found a child .... which died shortly after ...."

"Yes ...." Jacob confirmed solemnly.

"Well pardon my bluntness, but that's bullshit! What do I have to do to convince you that I mean you no harm?" She asked softly, her unusual eyes still appealing to him to reveal the truth, to trust her.

"There are no words. I cannot help you. The child .... died .... forty years ago ...."

"Liar." Josephine breathed. "I don't believe you ...."

"My good woman, that is _**your**_ problem! As I have said, we are done here, and I would appreciate it if you did not follow me ...."

"All right. I'll give you this, old man. The child .... the baby .... you deliberately keep avoid mentioning the sex of .... was .... a boy ...."

"A lucky guess ...." Jacob retorted, but he was impressed with this young woman's reasoning. She knew that he wanted something from her in the way of proof that she was whom she claimed to be.

"But, I am right .... aren't I?"

"It makes no difference. The child died ...."

"No. He's alive. He's _**alive**_! _**You**_ wouldn't be _**here**_ if he was _**dead **_...."

"There is nothing more to be said, Madam. I am leaving ...."

Jacob Wells limped away from the young woman, knowing that the meeting had not gone at all as he had hoped.

He had lost control.

Initially, he had wanted to glean as much from her as he could, without giving anything away.

But, she was a canny one, this Josephine Grayson, for she had had the same idea, wanting something from him to prove that he was no time waster or chancer.

Jacob did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed, as she allowed him to go on his way.

And Josephine watched him go, with tears running slowly down her flushed cheeks, knowing in her heart of hearts that this man was the last link to her brother.

She could not simply allow him to walk out of her life.

She had to get his attention .... Somehow ....

And she had played enough games in her life to know that sometimes, one had to concede a point, to get back on top of the game.

Sometimes, you had to lose a battle, to give yourself a chance of finding a way of winning the war.

If the only way she could convince him, was to give away her best hand, then so be it.

"Listen to me. I know he's alive ...." Josephine called after the limping man, hoping that her voice would carry, and not be snatched away by the wind. "I know it, and .... he's .... my brother ...." Her voice suddenly caught in her throat, and she lowered her gaze, as more tears cascaded down her flushed cheeks. "He's my brother ...." She whimpered softly, lifting her eyes, hardly daring to hope that her words would have stopped his efforts to escape her presence.

She watched as the limping man came to a sudden, abrupt halt, and turned around slowly to face her once again, a shocked and somewhat startled expression on his grey, bewhiskered face.

"Your .... brother?" He gasped, as she walked toward him slowly, closing the gap between them.

"Yes ...."

"Why? After all these years. Why now?" Jacob choked out.

"I didn't know. I didn't know about him .... didn't find out about him until just before Christmas, when my mother .... our mother .... died ...." Josephine explained in a soft voice, impatiently brushing away her tears now. "He is alive .... isn't he?"

"Yes ...." This on a softly expelled hiss of breath.

"Thank God ...."

Josephine smiled softly through her tears, a smile of genuine relief that gave an even more radiant beauty to her pleasant features.

"I knew it. Thank God ...." She lowered her gaze from Jacob Wells curious sapphire blue eyes and her shoulders shook gently as she gave into silent sobs of relief.

"I want to see him," she said, looking back up at him at last, her unusual green/gold eyes swimming with unshed tears, her voice nothing more than a rough whisper as she battled to regain some measure of control over her emotions.

"I .... I .... don't know ...."

"I want to see him. Tell him .... I mean him no harm. I just .... I just want a chance to know him .... love him ...."

"I can't ...." Jacob mumbled, still in shock.

"Please ...." She implored softly. "Please .... There are some things that I have to tell him. I have some things for him .... from his mother .... and ...." She paused again to take a deep, calming breath, and Jacob Wells could not help but admire her courage and her tenacity.

"He must have questions .... lots of questions. I know I have. Maybe I can give him some answers. I must see him .... face to face ...."

"My dear girl, you do not know what you ask! You do not understand ...."

"But I _**do**_!" Josephine insisted vehemently. "I understand completely. She told me everything .... on her death bed .... everything .... Please .... I must see him ...."

"The decision must be his," Jacob Wells turned away from her then, touched by her obvious distress and genuine need to make contact with her brother.

"I understand ...." She whispered graciously, letting out a deep sigh of resignation. "Here," she fished around in her pocket for a small white business card with her home telephone number and address printed in bold, silver italic script.

Jacob reluctantly took the small white card from her shaking fingers, still white faced and shaking himself, at her revelation, and turned to limp away from her slowly and painfully, leaning heavily against his cane.

"Please .... tell him .... I mean him no harm. I just want to get to know him ...." Jacob could hear her sobbing softly as he moved away from her. "He's my brother .... all I have left in the world. Tell him that. Tell him .... tell him that his mother's name was Andrea. Tell him .... tell him that she loved him .... always .... always .... at the cost of everything else .... and tell him .... that she named him .... Joseph ...."

Jacob Wells continued to move away from the softly weeping young woman, tears streaming down his ashen face, to be caught in the coarse whiskers of his greying beard, as he listened to her words with an aching heart.

He could hear the pain in her voice. The need ....

And felt his own heart constrict in his chest, as he wondered if he had the strength and the courage to tell Vincent the truth.

Josephine watched through stormy, tear filled green and gold eyes until the elderly, limping man completely disappeared from view, then, lifting her glove encased hand to her mouth gave into the harsh, wracking sobs that made her slender body shake and heave violently, and robbed her, momentarily, of breath.

_**So close, Mother ....**_

_**So close ....**_

It was in his hands now.

This nameless stranger, who considered it his God given right to defend and protect her brother so fiercely.

Her future ....

_**Their**_ future ....

Was in his hands.

And, she had to trust him.

She had no other recourse.

But she had seen the love, and the integrity in his deep sapphire blue eyes.

And she had seen the fear there too.

The terror, that all that he believed in and considered constant was about to crumble ....

To come crashing down around his ears

_**His**_ future ....

Destroyed ....

Lost ....

If he could not move beyond that fear .... If he could not overcome that terror ....

There was a very real possibility that he would take the secret of her existence, and her identity, with him to the grave.

Still ....

There was one thing that she now knew for certain.

Her brother was _**alive**_ ....

She had believed it ....

Had clung to that desperate belief .... that slim hope ....

Now she knew that she had been right to believe ....

Joseph ....

Her brother ....

He was alive ....

She closed her eyes tightly, and squeezed out fresh tears from between fine lashes, as more sobs wracked her body.

Now ....

She had to continue to play the waiting game ....

She had to continue to be patient. To have faith ....

It was out of her hands now.

The decision was his.

It all depended upon how great was his need to discover the truth ....

His need to hear the answers to questions that he had never dared to ask in forty years.

If he was his mother's son ....

Tenacious ....

Dogged ....

Determined ....

Oh yes, Andrea Reeve would never have let go of this. Never. Not until it was all done.

And ....

If he was indeed his mother's son .... hopefully ....

Neither would her brother ....

/a\

Blinded by hot tears, Jacob Wells limped and stumbled back to the cement drainage culvert and the warm, dry safety of the tunnel beyond.

He leaned heavily against the solid metal gate, his old chest heaving and straining with the effort to fill his lungs with enough precious air, his heart laboring as it pounded in his ears, his mind racing, her soft voice still ringing in his ears ....

_**"He is my brother .... all I have left in the world .... his mother's name was Andrea. He is my brother .... She named him Joseph .... she loved him .... always .... always .... He is my **_**brother**_**.... all I want is a chance to get to know him .... love him. My brother .... my brother ...."**_

Blindly, Jacob reached up for the lever to release the mechanism to open up the circular portal, and tugged impatiently on the gate, pulling it open at last, and staggering through the small opening to the familiar, golden light of his world beyond, automatically reaching out to connect his gnarled old hand with the twin lever on this side of the door, to close the secret entrance behind him.

Jacob staggered breathlessly down the familiar sandy floored tunnel, the familiar sound of clanking pipes in the background a comfort to him.

He had not expected to react this way. Could only put it down to shock.

And fear.

Fear that Vincent's very real and understandable curiosity would draw him closer and closer to his .... sister .... and inevitably .... further and further away from the people who loved him.

_**His sister?**_

_**Dear God ....**_

His sister ....

A very lovely young woman. Bright. Intelligent. Compassionate. Dignified. Demure and gentle ....

And, she claimed, all that she wanted was a chance to know him .... love him ....

_**How could he deny Vincent, and young Jacob, her love and companionship?**_

Jacob leaned heavily against the rough cement tunnel wall and panted, head bowed, eyes closed, an image of Vincent in his mind, a look of pure wonder and awe on his unique leonine features, as he learned of his sister's existence ....

It was all that Vincent had dreamed of ....

No ....

It was _**more**_ than Vincent could ever have dreamed of .... hoped for ....

He could no more deny Vincent this opportunity than he could stop breathing.

But. he could not face Vincent with this. Not yet ....

Not feeling like this.

So frightened .... uncertain .... wretched .... alone ....

No, he could not present his son with these wonderful facts, feeling as he did now, for Vincent would sense it, see it in his eyes, and know what his father was truly feeling ....

And that knowledge would surely cloud his own emotions, his own ability to make a rational decision.

And Jacob did not want that.

He did not want to spoil this for Vincent.

But all that he could think about at that moment was how this unexpected development would affect Mary and himself, the others who shared their home Below, and loved Vincent as one of their own family.

There was one consolation, he told himself silently. Their world appeared to be safe in all of this, for the time being at least.

Jacob continued to lean against the tunnel wall, drawing in deep breaths and releasing them slowly in a valiant effort to restore order to his racing heart, then sank clumsily to the sand covered floor, taking in still more deep breaths, reasoning with himself as he sat gasping and panting, that this whole business had taken more out of him than he had realized.

Of course, he was pleased for Vincent.

His sister was .... a very dignified and gracious lady.

And he had sensed her pain, seen her grief and her despair, her need to make a connection with another living soul ....

Her blood brother ....

He had seen her strength. Her composure. Gained a measure of her intelligence and cognitive abilities, the power of her mind ....

And he had also seen her vulnerability.

These were both qualities that she shared with her unique brother.

Qualities that her brother sought and admired in others.

He thought back to his emotional meeting with the young woman, and to the mannerisms that had seemed familiar ....

And indeed they were.

Vincent.

She moved her head, eyes in a certain way, just like Vincent did, pinning him with those unusual, all seeing eyes, just as Vincent had done all his life ....

_**Dear God ....**_

It was true then ....

They _**were**_ blood relations ....

How could he deny either of them the opportunity to know the other?

The simple answer was ....

He could not.

Vincent had waited forty years to know the truth ....

And now, his sister could possibly guide him toward the answers that he sought ....

_**Be strong, Jacob ....**_

_**This might not be an ending ....**_

_**But a new beginning ....**_

_**A new era of peace and contentment for Vincent ....**_

_**Don't think of it as losing a son ....**_

_**But gaining a daughter ....**_

_**But ....**_

_**Remember .... it has to be Vincent's decision.**_

But, it would be so very out of character for him to decide to leave it alone ....

No ....

Vincent would see it through to it's conclusion ....

And now that he was reasonably sure that the future was relatively danger and peril free, Jacob Wells knew that he would not blame Vincent for continuing the quest.

He had told Vincent at the very beginning that he needed to do this for his own peace of mind, and for the sake of his sanity.

The only thing that had changed since then, was that his father was better prepared for what he might find, and would be better able to deal with the consequences.

Breathing a little more easily now, Jacob began to feel ashamed of his reaction to this latest development.

He rested his head back against the tunnel wall, and let out a deep sigh.

Thank God Vincent had not stayed behind to wait for him.

And Thank God Mary would never see him in such a state of distress, for it would have scared the living daylights out of his poor, dear wife.

_**How could I have been so selfish?**_ He admonished silently.

_**There's no fool like an old fool ....**_

He let out a long, shuddering sigh, appalled by his behavior.

But, also knowing that he should have expected it.

He was, after all, not made of stone, and he loved Vincent more deeply than he had ever realized before.

And had loved Vincent for more years than he cared to remember. The babe, the child, and finally, the man, had shared more of his life with him than had any other living soul.

How else then, should he have reacted to the knowledge that there was a blood sister .... with knowledge, and power enough to pull his beloved son away from him?

He would not have been a man had he reacted in any other way.

His love for Vincent would have been as nothing, if he had not reacted as he had.

There was no shame in loving Vincent, and he should feel no shame in fearing that he would lose Vincent's love to this incredibly gracious and brave young woman from the world Above.

Feeling a little calmer and less winded now, Jacob decided that he would just sit here for a while, collect himself, decide how best to break the news to Vincent, then, summon the boy with a brief message on the pipes.

Meanwhile, Jacob's thoughts returned to the distressed young woman that he had left behind in the park.

Who would comfort her?

Had he destroyed all her hopes with his angry retreat?

He hoped not, for he had both liked and admired what he had seen.

She deserved answers to her questions too.

At that moment, Jacob Wells decided that if it was the very last thing that he ever did, he would guide these two young people toward each other, then stand back and marvel at the extraordinary love that would come from the bringing together of brother and sister.

United at last, able to learn each about the other, each to love the other ....

Neither feeling alone and outcast any longer.

In still trembling fingers, Jacob held Josephine Grayson's business card up to the light, and squinted at the silver italic print.

Yes ....

He knew where she lived ....

He knew that section of their subterranean world quite well ....

It would not be difficult for Vincent to find ....

To gain access ....

_**You can lead a horse to water, Jacob, but you can't make him drink ....**_ He reminded himself scathingly.

Maybe so ....

But this was Vincent that he was thinking about .... And Jacob knew that his son would not require much persuading.

Point him in the right direction ....

Give him a gentle push ....

And the rest would be history ....

Destiny ....

Yes.

Destiny.

Fate.

Karma ....

Call it what you would. It was the one thing that Vincent could not avoid ....

And nor could his father ….


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR.**

_**FRIDAY 30TH DECEMBER, 1994 - NEW YORK CITY.**_

"Vincent?" Cullen let out a long, deep sigh as he regarded his old friend.

The familiar leonine features were set in a solemn expression, the silky red/gold mane was fanned out around his broad shoulders, where it had fallen when Vincent had removed his cloak, and those familiar, arresting blue eyes faraway and unfocused, lost in the deepest contemplation.

Cullen tried to smother a smile in his now slightly greying whiskers. His noble friend had been next to useless since he had returned from escorting Father Topside.

He was meant to be helping Cullen with the ongoing repairs to the furniture in the Great Hall, more damage having come to light at Christmas, to the sturdy old chairs and tables that would be needed again for the New Years celebrations in two days time.

At this rate, half of the community would be required to sit on the floor to eat their New Years' lunch.

This thought brought another smile to Cullen's lips.

"Vincent ...." He reached out and laid a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, drawing his steady blue gaze at last. "A penny for your thoughts?" He grinned.

"I am sorry, Cullen .... I was ...."

"Miles away?"

"Not quite ...." Vincent lowered his gaze.

"Just up top. With Father."

"Yes."

"I can understand why you'd be worried, Vincent," Cullen sighed softly. "After all, he's not as young as he used to be ...."

"But Father is still hail and hearty ...."

"Yes," Cullen grinned in agreement. "And still as feisty as ever."

If there was one man that he truly admired, and respected, and aspired to be more like, it was Jacob Wells.

Of course, it hadn't always been that way.

There had been a moment, a blink of an eye really, when Cullen had been seduced by greed, overwhelmed by the sudden acquisition of wealth, after years of scrimping and saving and scratching a living.

The discovery of the treasure, buried deep under the city, part of their subterranean world for centuries, undiscovered, until Mouse's explorations had revealed it's existence, had deeply affected the whole community for a while.

And Cullen had turned on Father.

Cullen hadn't been the only one to lose his head over it, but he had been the only one to almost lost his soul because of it.

Greed had eaten away at his good sense, blackened his heart against his most trusted friends, and clouded his usually logical and centered mind.

A pacifist most of his life, greed had inspired him to commit an heinous act of violence against the most innocent amongst them.

Mouse.

And had caused him to bring danger to the place that he had called home for so long, where he had found peace and contentment away from the stresses and the heartache of the world Above, in the form of a man, with a gun, also seduced by greed.

It had been Vincent who had come to his rescue, despite the harsh words that had passed between them earlier.

It had been a testing time for the whole community and it had been Father's reasoning that had helped them all through it, and Vincent's wisdom that had helped them all to decide what to do with the treasure.

After that, Cullen had never allowed himself to forget his rash, uncharacteristic behavior. The episode had colored his life so deeply, that for a time, he had wondered if he would ever move past it.

And through it all, Vincent had been there for him, supportive, his manner toward Cullen never changing, encouraging his friend not to be so hard on himself, to forgive himself for his human failings, as his friends had all forgive him.

Including Mouse .

Cullen was deeply grateful to this incredible man whom he counted as his closest friend and he had tried to be supportive to Vincent in his time of trouble and grief, as supportive that was, as Vincent would allow him to be, had allowed anyone to be, except Father.

Cullen knew all too well what was weighing so heavily on Vincent's mind today and it was not primarily Father's health although that was a part of it.

Vincent had shown no inclination to talk about it, and Cullen had understood.

Vincent was an intensely private man, quiet and thoughtful, needing to work out his own problems, quietly and logically, talking it through with Father, or his closest friends, only when the answer eluded him, or when he needed a fresh perspective.

"Yes," Vincent agreed with a gentle smile, the small gesture that slightly lifted his features, without revealing his teeth.

"He'll be okay, Vincent," Cullen assured with a confident air.

"Still, I cannot help wishing that I were with him ..." Vincent sighed deeply.

He had tried to steer his thoughts in other directions, but his lapse in concentration was evidence of his lack of success.

He had told Cullen only that Father's visit to the world Above had something to do with the person who was digging into his history, and as a good friend, Cullen had not pursued the subject, for which Vincent was very grateful.

"It's not hard to guess why ...."

"It is because of me that he makes this perilous journey Above. If anything should happen to him, Cullen ...."

"Nothing will happen to him, Vincent. He may be getting on in years, but he's as tough as old boots ...." Cullen grinned. "Physically, emotionally, mentally ...."

"Perhaps ...."

"Vincent ...." Cullen faltered for a moment. "You know that wild horses couldn't have stopped him from pursuing this. He loves you. Wants the best for you, always ...."

"I know that, Cullen ...." Vincent regarded his friend thoughtfully.

"You're lucky to have his love and support, Vincent ...."

"I know that too, Cullen, and I understand how .... difficult .... and painful .... this must be for him ...."

Vincent sighed softly.

"I have tried to reassure him, that no matter what the outcome of this, I will always love him .... need him .... but, still, I see the fear in his eyes. The fear of losing the son that he has loved, protected, shielded, educated and nurtured for forty years, and it is then that I know that no amount of reassurance from me will convince him ...."

"Actions speak louder than words, Vincent. Father will settle down when he sees that nothing is really going to change. After all, you're hardly going to leave home, are you?" Cullen chuckled softly.

"This place .... his love .... is the only home that I have ever known .... or wanted ...." Vincent confirmed solemnly. "Nothing could change that ...."

"And Father knows that, Vincent. In his heart of hearts, he knows it, but he is getting older, feeling threatened by any small change that he has no control over. You understand that feeling, Vincent. Don't you?"

"Yes ...." Vincent let out a long, ragged sigh.

"He just needs time to come to terms with the shock, and, if you don't mind my saying so, so do you, my friend."

"Perhaps ...."

"No Vincent. Not perhaps. For sure .... You've waited a long time for this opportunity to discover the truth about the circumstances of your birth, now, it is so close you can almost taste it ...." Vincent dropped his china blue gaze briefly. "It 's a lot to take in all at once, pal. Give yourself time to absorb everything. Don't make any hasty decisions, and trust in Father. Trust in his love. He knows what this means to you. Let him be your guide in this, Vincent. He loves you."

"I love him too, Cullen," Vincent's voice was low and husky with emotion.

"I know ...." Cullen paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You know, Vincent, sometimes, I envy you. I envy you your relationship with Father."

This brought Vincent's head up and he regarded Cullen curiously.

"If I'd had something only half as good with my Dad, well, things might have been very different. I might not have struggled for so long with guilt and feeling so inadequate, because he was disappointed with me. The weight of all that emotional baggage almost crippled me, Vincent, but until I came Below, and saw you and Father, I thought that that was the way that it was with all fathers and sons ..." Cullen sighed wistfully.

"I see you and Father, the way that you talk to each other, look at each other, touch each other. I see the closeness that you have, even when you disagree, it is so obvious and so touching. Let me tell you, Vincent, it's not something that fathers and sons in the world Above find easy. Showing each other tenderness, affection ...." Cullen sighed again.

"It's not considered manly .... masculine .... it's .... embarrassing ...." He smiled ruefully now. "But if you never show affection, and you never tell each other that you love, how do you know?" Cullen shrugged. "I think that you and Father have gotten it right, Vincent. The right balance. Convention be damned, and believe me, Vincent, that is quite some gift to pass on to your son and I do envy you ...."

"Yes, our relationship is very special, Cullen. Turbulent at times. We can both be very stubborn, as I am sure you are aware, but, a child could not have asked for a better guide .... teacher .... Father ...."

"And that relationship will endure, Vincent. All Father really needs is the odd gentle reminder ...."

"Yes ...." Vincent agreed softly.

"I understand. If you don't feel in the mood for this ...." Cullen waved his arm at the small stack of rickety chairs and tables around them. "I know you've got a lot on your mind right now."

"Yes."

"I'm here for you, Vincent. If you need to talk."

"I know that Cullen. Thank you," Vincent reached out and gently squeezed his friend's shoulder. "But there is really nothing to talk about, until Father returns ...." He confided in soft tones.

"Okay, but I'm here, Vincent. Any time. If you feel the need to talk about anything ...."

It had become an unwritten rule here Below that one simply did not discuss Catherine with Vincent, because it was just too upsetting for him, his friends sympathy and good wishes causing him too much pain, that they had all decided that the only way for him to cope with the situation was if he did not have to talk to anyone about it.

However, Cullen knew that there must be times when his friend needed to talk about the woman that he loved, and what he felt about her continued debilitation.

It must be hard on him, not to be able to talk to anyone other than Father, about her condition. Not to hear her name. Not to be able to speak openly about Catherine ....

If she had died, perhaps it would have been easier for Vincent to talk about her after all this time, but she had not. She just hung in limbo. Neither dead, but not quite alive either.

"Thank you ...." Vincent bowed his head briefly.

"We'd best get on. These things wont fix themselves ...." Cullen grinned then.

"And I have not been much help so far ...." Vincent sighed deeply.

"Don't sweat it, Vincent ...." Cullen chuckled at his friend's expression of guilt, draping his arm affectionately around Vincent's broad shoulders. "Go. Get out of here. Take some time out and do the thinking that you need to do ...." He advised sagely. "Don't worry about this. I'll recruit Mouse to give us a hand ...." He chuckled softly again. "If I can find him ...." The grin grew wider, and Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward.

Mouse was a valued member of the community, over the years, contributing much to improve the way of life Below, but, since Christmas, when he and his pretty young wife, Jamie, had learned that she was expecting their first child, the young man had become even less reliable than usual, not wanting to leave Jamie's side, planning new ways to make the new mother's life easier, with this new gadget or that neat invention.

They were a sweet young couple and everyone was very happy for them, especially after all the ups and downs of their turbulent courtship.

Father's confirmation of Jamie's pregnancy had come just in time for Christmas, her extra special gift to her husband, she had called it, face wreathed in smiles, and since then the young man had been like .... a mouse .... with two tails!

"What about that, huh? I still can't believe it. Mouse, a father," Vincent merely nodded. "Have you seen Jamie? she looks so ...."

"Serene," Vincent supplied.

"Yeah ...." Cullen smiled softly. "That's it exactly. I'm so glad those two finally got it together. My blood pressure couldn't have taken much more ...."

"Yours too?" Vincent could not suppress a soft chuckle. "At one point, I truly believed that Father would burst a blood vessel, he was so exasperated with both of them ...."

"And he can talk! I thought he and Mary would never make it down the aisle!"

Vincent smiled softly at this.

"I never doubted for a moment ...."

"Huh!" Cullen snorted causing Vincent to tilt his head to one side, birdlike, regarding his friend with amusement.

"I seem to remember you ploughing a trench a foot deep in my chamber, as you paced back and forth for hours on end, baby Jacob slung over your shoulder, complaining about how blind Father was, and how stubborn ...." Cullen chuckled, and Vincent smiled too, dropping his head briefly, but when he looked up again, his beautiful china blue eyes were sparkling with mirth.

Vincent remembered that time all too clearly, and how he had found it impossible to believe that Father could not see what was directly under his nose.

"Actually, Vincent, I found it .... very endearing," Cullen smiled, giving his friend's shoulder a brief squeeze.

At that moment, Vincent's attention was caught by a string of metallic clatters and clanks on the master pipes. His name, coming from a very familiar hand ....

Vincent let out a soft sigh of relief.

"Father?" Cullen regarded his friend curiously.

"Father," Vincent confirmed.

"That was quick," Cullen observed, wondering if that was a good sign, or not.

"Yes," Vincent let out a mighty sigh.

"Good luck ...." Cullen smiled, as he slipped his arm from around Vincent's broad shoulders. "The moment of truth, huh?"

"Perhaps ...."

"Well? What are you waiting for?" Cullen grinned. "I know that I said don't rush into anything, but that didn't include keeping Father waiting!"

"No. _**That**_ would never do ...."

Cullen watched his friend grab his cloak, and swing it around his shoulders, as he exited the Great Hall on long, purposeful strides, and then let out a soft sigh, hoping that his friend was not heading for the biggest disappointment of his life.

Father was back very quickly.

Too quickly.

Maybe it hadn't gone well.

Maybe Father hadn't liked what he had discovered.

Still, Vincent still had Father, and that remarkable, loving, enduring relationship.

Cullen found himself hoping that something good had come out of Father's trip Above, because Vincent could use some good news about now.

After all, Vincent had endured enough pain, despair and heartache.

Was still enduring, even now.

Hopefully, a new, happier chapter was about to open in Vincent's life, bringing with it stability and peace of mind.

Cullen fervently hoped so.

/a\

For a long time after the elderly, limping man had gone, Josephine Grayson continued to stare after him, giving into her tears, allowing the grief to overwhelm her, until, at last, utterly exhausted by the power of emotion, she staggered to the nearest park bench and sat down heavily, wringing her gloved hands in her lap, her head bowed.

She refused to believe that it was over.

It could never be over. Not while she knew that her brother was alive ....

Out there. Somewhere ....

Not while she had breath in her body.

It would never be over ....

Not until he came to her and told her himself, face to face.

Told her that she had no place in his life.

In his future.

To see him.

Just once.

Would be enough ....

It would have to be enough ....

If that was what he wanted ....

Her thoughts in turmoil, Josephine did not know how long she sat on the rusted old bench, cursing herself for not following the old gent, for not insisting that he give her his name.

_**Some F.B.I. Agent you'll make!**_ She railed silently.

At last, she began to feel the chilly late December afternoon breeze in her bones, and shivering, pulling her coat more closely about her, Josephine rose stiffly from the bench, and began to walk to the nearest park exit.

As she emerged on to the street, she spotted a flower stall, and went over to purchase a small bunch of snowdrops from a stooped, elderly woman, then she stepped to the curb and hailed a passing yellow cab, which took her to the cemetery where her parents were buried.

Josephine walked slowly and solemnly between the neat rows of tombstones, and neatly tended graves until she reached the place where only a few days ago, she had laid her mother to rest.

Andrea had only been gone for two weeks. Already it felt like a lifetime.

She had only known about her brother's existence for _**two weeks**_.

It hardly seemed possible.

Bending carefully, Josephine split the bunch of snowdrops and placed one small bundle on the ground in front of her father's headstone, smiling softly as fresh tears brimmed in her green/gold eyes.

"Hello Daddy. Happy New Year," she spoke softly in a thick voice. "I miss you ...."

She reached out and removed the wreath of holy and mistletoe that she had laid on her father's grave on the day of her mother's funeral, setting it aside on the path to throw in the trash can beside the cemetery gate on her way out.

"I love you, Daddy ...."

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Josephine moved to the freshly dug ground where her mother lay, and set down the second small bunch of snowdrops on the freshly turned earth.

"Hello Mother. Happy New Year," she let out a deep sigh. "You were right. He is alive. Your son. Joseph. He is alive. I met a man today, who told me so, but I don't know what will happen now. It's up to him ...."

Josephine remained, squatting beside the fresh grave, for several more minutes, and then, feeling weary and downhearted, Josephine rose carefully and began to walk away, disposing of the dying wreath as she walked back out through the cemetery gate, and stood on the nearest corner to hail a cab.

/a\

"Father?" Vincent's low, husky voice broke the silence, as he approached the seated old man on silent feet, his boots and cloak stirring up soft eddies of dust as he moved quickly and quietly.

For a moment, Vincent was concerned for Father. He looked so frail and weary, sitting propped up against the tunnel wall, bearded chin in his chest.

_**Was he sleeping?**_ Vincent wondered as he drew closer. _**Or was he sick?**_

"Father? Are you well?"

Jacob Wells lifted his head from his chest, his silent contemplation disturbed by his son's anxious tone of voice. He looked up into Vincent's familiar, beloved face, and saw the concern in those soulful, deep cobalt blue eyes, and the anticipation, the eagerness to discover what his father had found out.

"I'm all right, Vincent," Jacob Wells assured his son softly, holding out his hand toward Vincent. "Help me up, will you. Leg's gone to sleep ...."

"Father ...."

Vincent took his father's hand and gently helped him to his feet. Jacob wobbled a little unsteadily, as he leaned heavily against Vincent for a moment, then shifted his weight more evenly, using his walking stick to even the load.

"Let's go home, Vincent ...." Jacob smiled, reaching out to affectionately pat his son's half gloved, fur covered hand. He could sense Vincent's warring emotions. His concern for his father's welfare, his need to know what had transpired Above, his reticence to broach the subject before Father was ready to talk .... "I'm dying for a good cup of Mary's tea ...."

Vincent bowed his head very slightly in submission.

Jacob let out a soft sigh.

"I know that you are eager to know what I have found out, Vincent ...." He smiled softly. "And there is much to tell, my boy ...." The smile grew wider now. "But I will tell it better, comfortably seated in my chamber, with a good cup of hot tea ...." This drew a small, soft smile from Vincent.

"I know I like the sound of my own voice ...." Jacob grinned. "But I think I would rather have to tell this tale only the once ...."

"Very well. I can be patient a little longer, Father ...." Vincent said softly. "Come, Mary probably already has the tea on the table ...."

Father and son walked slowly, in companionable silence, Jacob Wells using the time to arrange his thoughts, and plan what, and how he was going to tell Vincent.

_**Should he just blurt it out?**_

_**Or should he try to be subtle?**_

He had thought long and hard about what he should do, whilst he had waited for Vincent to arrive.

But, now that he was here, and so obviously anxious to learn what his father knew, it was hard for Jacob to keep quiet.

But, he did.

At last, they reached the familiar cozy chamber that he now shared with his dear wife, and as they entered, Mary rushed over to her husband, abandoning the mending that she had been trying to do, in a vain effort to keep both her hands and her mind occupied, throwing her arms around him, her relief at his return in one piece, evident, as she pressed soft, warm lips to his.

"I will pour the tea ...." Vincent, his eyes twinkling with amusement, relinquished his hold on Father, and moved to where a tray of teacups and saucers, milk, sugar and teapot sat on Father's scarred old desk.

As the elderly couple continued to embrace, the younger man poured out three cups of hot Earl Grey tea, adding milk to all three, and two spoonfuls of sugar to Mary's, then he coughed softly, to get their attention.

They truly were a heart warming sight, Vincent thought to himself, as Mary finally disentangled herself from Father, a soft flush staining her cheeks, becomingly, as she smiled at Vincent.

"See, I told you that everything would be fine ...." Jacob Wells grinned affectionately at his wife, touched by the genuine warmth of her welcome. "Nothing terrible happened to me .... nor did I get arrested ...." He chuckled softly, unable to resist the temptation to tease the good lady.

"Drink your tea, Jacob," Mary took a cup and saucer from Vincent and passed it carefully over to her husband.

She was so relieved to see her husband returned, safe and well, that she was prepared to overlook the obvious fatigue in his face, and the weary set of his shoulders, and the redness around his familiar, deep sapphire blue eyes, evidence to her knowing, loving eyes that he had been weeping.

"It went .... well, Father?" Vincent asked at last, taking a sip of his own tea.

"Yes ...." Jacob Wells sighed softly. "Yes ...." He cast a furtive glance at his dear wife, who returned his look with a questioning look of her own.

"I will go and tell William that you are back. He was going to hold back dinner for you. No need now ...." Mary offered, sensing that her husband would prefer to be alone with his son, to divulge what he had discovered Above.

"You do not have to leave us, Mary." Vincent said softly. "I have no secrets, especially not from you ...." He regarded her with soft, sky blue eyes, blessing her for her tact and understanding, and wanting her to know that it was not necessary.

"I know that Vincent, but, I have been so preoccupied today, I have rather neglected my chores ...." She confessed softly, casting a meaningful glance at her husband, before smiling softly. "I really should look in on the little ones. Jamie has been wonderful, but she needs all the rest she can get these days ...."

`Mary leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her husband's bewhiskered cheek.

"And so do you, my love. We will talk later ...."

"Yes ...."

Jacob Wells sipped his tea with relish as he waited for Mary to leave them, but, one glance at Vincent, leaning casually against the metal spiral staircase, just across the room from him, as he was, Jacob could tell that he was fast running out of patience with his dear parent.

"Well Father?" Vincent said at last, his voice low and husky. "Is it ...." His voice trailed away then, but Jacob knew what was on his son's mind.

"Your mother?" He finished for Vincent.

"Yes ...." Vincent confirmed.

"No, Vincent. Vincent, I'm sorry, but, your mother ...." Jacob paused to take a deep breath, and set down his teacup and saucer. "Vincent, apparently, your mother died. Just before Christmas," he explained gently. "And I think that we both know when ...."

This brought a frown to Vincent's heavy brow.

"You remember, Vincent. That night, in the Great Hall. The howl? You told me afterward that it was like ...."

"A piece of my soul had been ripped for me ...." Vincent finished in a low, ragged voice.

"Yes. And you said at the time that you thought that it was a death howl, marking a passing ...." Jacob reminded gently.

"My mother ...."

"Yes. I think so. I can't explain how you knew, but yes. I think that was what it was. You felt her passing ...."

"So .... who .... who is looking for me, Father?" Vincent moved away from the spiral staircase, pacing back and forth, his eyes moving around the room, before finally settling on Father's bearded face. "Who is this Josephine Grayson?" He asked roughly.

"Vincent, she is .... your .... sister ...."

Vincent stopped dead in his tracks, his beautiful golden mane bouncing around his broad shoulders as he stared, slack jawed at Jacob Wells.

"Sister?" He expelled the word slowly, his tone incredulous.

"Half sister, I guess ...."

"How?"

"You had the same mother, Vincent. She told me that your mother did not tell her about you until she was dying. A death bed confession ...."

"What else did she tell you, Father?" Vincent demanded gruffly.

"That your mother had told her everything .... everything about you ...."

This time, Vincent took this information in his stride, as he regarded Father with awe.

"What else?"

"She told me that your mother's name was Andrea."

"Andrea?" Vincent echoed softly.

"Yes," Jacob Wells smiled softly at the expression of reverence on Vincent's beloved face. "And .... Josephine told me that your mother gave you a name ...."

"A name?" This both confused and startled Vincent.

He had always believed that the woman who had given birth to him had disposed of him very soon afterward, ashamed, frightened, possibly dying ....

That she had given any thought to a name for her poor scrap of an infant, both warmed him and filled him with wonder.

"Yes. she called you .... Joseph," Jacob Wells grinned.

"Joseph ...."

The word was expelled on a deep sigh, and Vincent bowed his head briefly to conceal his face from Father, but, when he looked up once more, there were tears sparkling in his beautiful china blue eyes.

"Vincent, Josephine Grayson told me to tell you that your mother loved you, always, and what more evidence do you need than that she named you, cared enough for you to give you a name ...." Jacob's voice was throbbing with emotion now. "She told me to tell you that your mother loved you .... at the cost of everything else ...." He continued softly. "She wants to meet you, Vincent ...."

His beloved son's china blue eyes widened slightly at this news.

"She said something about having some things that your mother wanted you to have. Some things that she wanted you to know .... some answers .... to questions you must surely have ...."

"What is she like, Father?" Vincent's voice was low and had a whispery quality, a very strong indication to anyone who knew him, of the level of emotion that he was feeling at these disclosures from his father.

"She's .... young. Younger than you, Vincent. Mid thirties, I would guess. Tall, slender, darker coloring than you, with the most beautiful green eyes with golden flecks in the irises. Quite remarkable, I've never seen anything quite like them before ...."

Jacob smiled as he recalled Josephine Grayson's poise and dignity, as well as her integrity and intelligence, and her pain, and her need.

"She is very gracious, very dignified. Intelligent. Charming. I was very impressed with her, my boy ...."

"You liked her ...." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," Jacob acknowledged softly. "Yes, Vincent. I liked her very much," he confessed. "What will you do?"

"You have to ask?" Vincent regarded his father with incredulous blue eyes.

"No. I guess not ...." Jacob Wells sighed softly.

"Did she say anything else about .... my mother?" Vincent regarded his father with a hopeful expression now.

"No ...." Jacob sighed deeply. "I suspect that anything that she might have to say on that subject would be for your ears only, my boy ...." He suggested. "So-o-o .... do we start calling you Joseph now?" He arched an eyebrow quizzically.

"If you don't want me to take any notice of whatever it is you are asking me ...." Vincent rolled his eyes heavenward. "Father, I am a little too old to be changing my name. If you called me Joseph, I probably wouldn't even realize that you were addressing me. My name is and always shall be, Vincent. That is who I am, but, that she perhaps cared enough to give me a name ...." His voice trailed away again then.

"I know, my boy. I know. Vincent, there was something else that Josephine Grayson said, something that set me thinking ...."

"What is it, Father?"

"Something about Anna .... When she found you .... Vincent, I suspect that Anna may not have been strictly honest with me about how she came to find you ...."

"Just another in a list of hundreds, no, thousands of questions that I have for my .... sister," Vincent sighed deeply.

"What's stopping you?"

"Nothing ...." Vincent paused to sigh deeply once more. "Absolutely nothing .... except me ...." This brought a frown to Jacob Wells's brow.

"Vincent?"

"I do not want to rush into anything, Father. I want to be certain that I am ready to hear what she has to say, to learn what she knows, to finally discover the truth. Am I ready, Father?"

"I think so, my boy, but, only you can know for certain ...."

Jacob reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew Josephine Grayson's business card reaching out with it to offer it to his son.

Vincent took the small white oblong piece of card from Father and carefully read the address printed in silver italic script, then he looked up at Father with questioning aqua eyes, remembering Cullen's words.

_**The moment of truth ....**_

"Father?"

"It's your decision, Vincent. I cannot make it for you, and please do not ask me to tell you what you should do. You have to follow your heart in this, my boy. You know that I am always here for you, whatever you decide, but, _**this**_ has to be _**your**_ decision, Vincent."

"Follow my heart ...."

Following his heart had lead him to Catherine and all the love and the joy that she had brought into his life.

Following his heart had lead him to the man who had stolen his baby son, to the man who had stolen Catherine's future.

What would become of him if he followed his heart this time?

Vincent had no idea.

He only knew that he must be true to himself ....

And he had waited so long for this moment ....

He could not simply let it pass by ....

He had a sister.

_**A sister ....**_

Another flesh and blood being that he was connected to.

An Aunt for young Jacob ....

A blood relative .... a contact in the world Above ....

What choice did he have?

Really?

For the sake of his sanity ....

There were questions burning in his mind ....

Questions that perhaps Josephine Grayson had answers to, the only person left, now that he knew that his mother was dead, who could provide him with any answers at all, and what had it all been for .... all the worry .... the speculation .... the anxiety .... of himself and his family ....

If he faltered at the final hurdle?

Jacob Wells watched his beloved son's face carefully, almost able to see the cogs and wheels in motion, as he wrestled with his thoughts and emotions, and knew the very instant when the decision was made.

And Vincent did not disappoint him.

"I must see her ...." He expelled a huge sigh, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the expulsion of breath. "I must ...."

"Yes." Jacob Wells smiled softly. "What a truly wonderful gift for a New Year, Vincent .... a sister ...."

"Yes ...." Vincent sighed again, deeply. "I never dreamed. A sister. Jacob will be thrilled. an Aunt. I wonder if she has a family ...." Vincent pondered aloud.

"Something else that you will have to ask her. Vincent, you will be careful what you say to her .... about this place .... where .... how .... you live .... she is naturally going to be very curious ...." Jacob reminded his son gently.

"Father .... She works for the F.B.I. surely that must make her trustworthy ...."

"It's no guarantee, Vincent, but .... I have met her. I have looked into her eyes, and yes, I believe that we can trust her, so long as we don't rush into things. When will you go, Vincent?" Jacob asked, suspecting that he already knew the answer.

"Tonight."

"You never were one to let the grass grow ...." Jacob smiled softly. "Where?"

"The park. The lagoon. Neutral ground ...." Vincent suggested. "I will write a brief message, and get one of the children to pass it on to one of our helpers Above. I think Barry Masterson lives close to that neighborhood. Perhaps he would not mind delivering it ...."

"Perhaps .... Vincent ...."

"I know, Father. I will be careful ...." Vincent smiled, the soft gesture that slightly lifted his heavy features, without revealing his teeth.

"I know you will. What I was actually going to say ...." Jacob rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Was .... be gentle with her. Hear what she has to say, but don't judge her. All this must have come as something of a shock to her too ...." Father reminded his son gently. "Take things slowly, Vincent ...." He advised sagely.

"I will, Father," Vincent crossed the room on long strides, and dropping to his knees before Father, reached out and pulled the elderly man gently into his arms. "Thank you, Father," he squeezed the other man gently. "I love you so much ...."

"I know .... Steady on now .... you'll break my ribs ...." Jacob Wells smiled softly as Vincent reluctantly drew away. "I never dreamed that you might have a sister either, Vincent, but I am glad ...."

Vincent rose gracefully from his knees and moved away from Father.

"Perhaps when you know her a little better, you might find out if she plays chess ...."

Father called after Vincent, as the younger man climbed the steps to the vestibule two at a time, and exited Father's chamber on long, graceful strides, a soft rumble of laughter echoing off the rough, moss and lichen covered walls as he went.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE.**

In his chamber, Vincent drew up his favorite big oak chair, with the high back and the exquisitely carved arms, and sat down at his desk, setting aside his journal, left out after making last night's entry, and pulled out a clean sheet of writing paper.

He stared at the oblong sheet of white lined paper and let out a deep sigh, unsure how he wanted to word the note to his .... sister ....

Then, at last, he began to write, in a large, bold copperplate hand, and he had just finished it to his satisfaction, when his son came bounding into the chamber, full of energy and life.

"Hi Dad ...." The young boy regarded his father with wide, curious blue eyes.

"Hello Jacob ...." Vincent looked up at his son affectionately. "I hope that you are behaving ...."

"Who me? Sure .... Dad .... are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Well ...."

"You have been sensing my anxiety and my .... distance ...."

"Yeah ...." The child affirmed. "And then .... just now ...."

"You felt my .... acceptance .... that I had made a decision ...."

"Yes, Dad ...."

"That is because, I have ...."

"Tell me ...."

"Grandfather went Above this morning, and found out who was seeking me." Vincent opened his arms to the child then, who rushed at him, and clambered up on to his father's large knee.

"Your Mom?"

"No. My sister." Vincent smiled softly. "Congratulations, Jacob, you have an Aunt."

"Wow!" The child grinned broadly, revealing small, even, pearl white teeth. "Will I get to see her?" He asked excitedly.

"Perhaps ...." Vincent said reluctantly. "I have to meet her first," he reminded.

"Can I come too?"

"No. It will be late, Jacob. You will be asleep ...." Vincent advised sagely. "And if you are not ...."

"I know .... more chores ...." Jacob sighed heavily. "Please?"

"No Jacob ... I have to do this alone .... Perhaps later, when I know her better ...."

"What's her name?" Jacob got over his disappointment quickly, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Josephine."

"Aunt Josephine. That's great news Dad!" Jacob flung his chubby young arms around his father's neck, and planted a wet kiss on his father's rough whiskered cheek. "I love you," he declared ardently.

"I love you too, Jacob, but, you still can't come ...."

"Ah Dad ...."

"Run along now, Jacob. I think your Grandfather would appreciate a visit ...."

"Okay ...."

"I have something that I must attend to, but, then I will see you for dinner."

"See ya Dad ...."

The boy scampered away, and Vincent could not help smiling to himself, letting out a soft snort of amusement.

His son was an extraordinary young man.

So accepting. So considerate.

So cunning ....

So full of life and vitality. Humor ....

So very alive.

Vital.

Vincent was so very proud of him.

Vincent let out a deep sigh, reaching out for the oblong sheet of paper, which he folded neatly in half, and then in half again, as he rose from his seat.

He left his chamber on long strides, making directly for the Pipe Chamber, where he knew young Alfie would be right now.

The youngster was the most fleet of foot, and Vincent wanted his message to reach the surface as quickly as possible, so that Josephine Grayson would have time to think it over, prepare.

In the Pipe Chamber, Vincent passed a few moments with his old friend, Pascal, enquiring after his health, knowing that Pascal had recently been laid low with the 'flu, although, he did look much better now, and must be feeling better to be back at his post in the centre of communications for the community Below.

The two men chatted about Christmas, about Father, about Mouse and Jamie's baby news and about young Jacob, and his improved pipe communication skills, and then Vincent handed over his note to the young Alfie, and watched the tow haired, blue eyed youngster sprint away.

Satisfied, Vincent bid his friend a fond farewell, then returned to his chamber, where he did a little tidying up, before preparing to join his son, Father, Mary and the rest of the community for dinner.

Although, food was the very last thing on his mind.

/a\

Less than thirty minutes after it left Vincent's hand, his note reached the surface, and passed from the grinning urchin called Alfie, into the hand of a young, dark haired mustachioed man, wearing jeans, a _**MEAT LOAF**_ T-shirt, a faded _**'I LOVE NEW YORK'**_ baseball cap and sneakers, Barry Masterson, who sped down the street on very smart rollerblades, until he reached his destination, and deposited the folded slip of paper noisily through the letterbox.

/a\

Esther Ludlow was slowly making her way across the black and white checkered tiled hallway, when the loud rattle of the letterbox made her jump, and she almost dropped the tray of tea and sandwiches that she had been taking up to Dr Grayson.

She set the tray down carefully on a sturdy, dark wood table, careful not to knock the telephone extension on the floor as she did so, and muttering darkly to herself, Esther Ludlow crossed the hallway to the front door, stooped awkwardly and picked up the small folded sheet of white paper inscribed simply with the word Josephine, in a bold, copperplate hand.

Esther frowned as she took in the poor quality of the note paper, and the bold, quite obviously masculine handwriting, but placed the hand delivered note on the tea tray, before beginning the journey up the wide central staircase.

Huffing and puffing her way up the stairs, Mrs Ludlow could not help wondering what had happened to her employer during her walk in the park.

When she had left the house that morning, the doctor had seemed to be in good spirits, but, when she had returned after lunch, Mrs Ludlow had immediately noticed the change in her demeanor.

Dr Grayson, head down, shoulders hunched, her step slow and deliberate, had walked across the hallway, acknowledging her housekeeper in a small voice, as she wearily climbed the central staircase and crossed the landing to her room.

The housekeeper had only caught a glimpse of the doctor's face, but she had been shocked by what she had seen there. Her face had been white, totally lacking in color, translucent, her big green eyes wide and red rimmed, and the whole way that she carried herself spoke of deep disappointment and despondency.

_**What a New Year this was going to be!**_

Esther thought to herself, as she paused outside the doctor's bedroom door, carefully balancing the tea tray on her knee, as she reached out to knock.

"Come in," Josephine's voice called out absently, and Esther Ludlow opened the door and entered her employer's bedroom.

The doctor was seated on an old fashioned chaise longue with a faded red velvet padded seat, positioned close to the fire. She was clad in a white terry toweling robe, her hair wound in a towel, turban style, staring at the yellow flames of the fire dancing in the fireplace.

"Your afternoon tea, doctor ...."

"Thank you, Mrs Ludlow ...." Josephine Grayson spoke absently, although her gaze never left the flames flickering in the fireplace.

"By the way, doctor, this was delivered by hand just now ...."

Mrs Ludlow held out the folded sheet of lined paper, and Josephine grudgingly tore her eyes from the hypnotic movement of the fire, frowning as she took the sheet of paper from her housekeeper.

"Thank you, Mrs Ludlow ...."

The housekeeper left without further comment, on silent feet, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Josephine Grayson alone again with her thoughts

Upon her return to the house, Josephine had hurried up to her room, stripped of her clothes, and stood, shivering, under a scalding shower, wondering if she would ever feel warm again.

She had pulled on a fresh night gown, and white toweling robe, wound her hair turban style in a big fluffy white towel, and had sat down in front of the cheerfully roaring fire in her bedroom, staring catatonically into the hypnotic flames.

Until Mrs Ludlow had brought the tray of tea and sandwiches.

Now, her body felt warmer, but there was a chill in her heart, as if the chilly wind at the cemetery had touched her heart, frozen it, hardening it against further disappointment .... heartache ....

Letting out a deep sigh, Josephine eyed the plate of neatly cut triangular sandwiches, and felt an inexplicable queasiness in the pit of her stomach.

Maybe some hot tea would help to shift the cold heaviness in her chest ...

Josephine moved slowly, with a lethargy borne of one too many disappointments in a life that should have held more promise, and she poured out a cup of steaming tea into a beautiful bone china cup decorated with pretty pink rosebuds and intertwining vines, adding a little milk to the cup, and as she set the china milk jug back down on the tray, she noticed the sheet of flimsy paper fluttering in the heat given off by the fire, lying on the floor where it had fallen as she had risen from the chaise longue.

Letting out a deep sigh, she wondered fleetingly who the note could be from, and took a small sip of her tea.

_**So-o-o, you can still feel enough to be curious?.**_

The thought surprised her.

She did not want to _**feel anything**_ anymore.

If she couldn't feel, she couldn't be hurt anymore.

Walking slowly back to her chaise longue, carefully carrying her teacup and saucer, Josephine bent to pick up the piece of paper, meaning to throw it on the fire, but her conscience would not allow it.

At least not before she had read it.

Someone had gone to the trouble of delivering it by hand. Therefore, it must be important, at least to the sender.

It could be from Patrick O'Shea.

Yes ....

It could be important.

What if Patrick was sick?

Letting out another deep sigh, Josephine sat down slowly, balanced her teacup on the empty seat beside her, and opened out the piece of paper.

She carefully read the simple words, with tears welling up in her big green/gold eyes, a smile itching at the corners of her lips, growing slowly into a grin, until, by the end of if, she was laughing and sobbing, tears rolling unchecked down her flushed cheeks to drip off the end of her chin.

The note, neatly penned in bold copperplate read:

**You are cordially invited to an appointment with destiny.**

**The Lagoon, Central Park.**

**Midnight.**

**J.**

Josephine read the note over and over again, her fingers shaking, her heart pounding in her ears ....

_**Dear God ....**_

_**He certainly had Andrea's flare for the dramatic ....**_

Josephine thought to herself, brushing impatiently at her tears, as she fought off hysteria.

_**At last ....**_

_**The moment that you have been waiting for ....**_

_**The moment of truth ....**_

_**Cometh the hour .... Cometh the man ....**_

_**Joseph.**_

_**My brother ..**_**..**

_**And .... what was it with these people and the damned park!**_

Josephine did not care.

She had her answer now.

_**You are cordially invited to an appointment with destiny ....**_

Yes ....

Yes ....

An invitation that she had no intention of allowing to pass by.

_**I'll be there dear brother! With bells on!**_

A quick glance at the small, pretty antique brass clock on the mantelpiece informed her that it was not yet five o'clock in the evening. She had plenty of time to prepare herself for the meeting, both physically and emotionally.

Picking up her teacup, and still clutching the hand written note in her other hand, Josephine curled up on the narrow couch and, letting out a soft sigh, began to gaze once again into the flickering flames of the fire, this time, her mind racing as to what she was going to say to him, trying to decide what he might want to know from her.

Yes ....

He would have questions, lots of questions, she was sure of it.

She had a lot to consider.

And now that the moment was upon her ....

All Josephine could focus on was that in a matter of a few short hours she would come face to face with an exceptional being.

Her brother ....

/a\

For Vincent, the hours between the moment that his note left his hand, bound for the world Above, until it was time for him to set out for his rendez vous with destiny seemed to last forever.

He joined Jacob, Mary and Father for dinner, but ate little, thoughtful and preoccupied, as he picked at the meal on his plate, aware of his son's amusement and Father's curious eyes on him, as he pushed the food from one side of the plate to the other.

Time spent with his beautiful, boisterous son took his mind off the impending meeting later, but only briefly, as he watched his son play for a while, then supervised his bath, stood guard whilst he reluctantly cleaned his teeth, then tucked him up in the big bed, with it's many pillows and layers of patchwork, much like the ones on his own bed, then read the by now sleepy boy a story.

Despite young Jacob's procrastinations, and his pleas for another story, even when the child finally succumbed to sleep, there was still plenty of time before Vincent needed to set off.

He thought about going to Father's chamber, but decided against that. He was far too preoccupied to do justice to the inevitable game of chess that Father would insist upon, and he did not want to talk.

They had done enough talking.

Instead, he selected a favorite old book and took it to the Whispering Gallery, leaning against the ancient rock wall, aware of the howling of the wind and the various echoes that filled the air, but even then, he could not concentrate on the story, or on the many voices around him.

Vincent went to the cliffs at the top of the Falls, but still he could not settle, memories crowding in around him ....

Memories of Catherine ....

Of the brief moments that they had snatched together here ....

Of Father telling him that he should let nothing stand in his way, that nothing should stop him from trying to get back his baby son.

Of Mary, confused and frightened that the man that she had secretly loved for so long might be lost to her.

And of Catherine, again, as she had been on that day, not long after her father had died, telling him that she felt that she had somehow failed, in choosing to return to the world Above.

Had he but known then what fate held in store for Catherine ....

But neither of them had known.

And nothing could change what had come to pass.

Not wishes .... nor dreams .... nor prayers ....

He had tried all three .... over the years ....

All in vain ....

But still he could not give up hope, that one day ....

At last, unable to find any peace or comfort in the usual places he sought out in times of melancholy like this, Vincent rushed back to his chamber, paced back and forth for a few moments, then, the decision made, he snatched his cloak from where it lay on the end of the bed, and hurried out of his chamber.

Vincent emerged from the cellar of a disused warehouse, long abandoned and boarded up, some little time later, his long, ground eating strides carrying him ever upward, and he scented the air carefully, for signs of danger, aware of the noises of the night around him, of the traffic, distant yet somehow louder than usual, the footsteps of a distant jogger, music from a juke box in a bar on the next block, animal sounds, the wind whistling around a nearby alley ....

And made his way quickly and silently amongst the shadows and the garbage cans until he reached a rusted metal fire escape.

He scaled the side of the building with ease, crossing the roof, and jumping to the next building, the route familiar, his having taken it every night for the past five years, until he reached the roof of the hospital, and dropped down on to the metal landing at the top of the fire escape at the back of the old brick building.

He pressed himself against the brickwork as he climbed down a metal drainpipe then swung over to the fire escape and down until he reached the window of Catherine's room.

The staff had orders to leave the window open slightly in the evening, so that the night breezes could waft into the room, giving it's silent, insensate occupant another source of stimulation, and the window moved easily, as Vincent applied a little upward pressure and squeezed his body in through the gap.

The room was dark, except for the small reading lamp over the head of the bed, and the softly flickering monitoring equipment, flashing out Catherine's heart beat, and blood pressure readings at regular intervals.

Vincent stood perfectly still .... still shocked and poleaxed by the sight of his beloved Catherine .... still beautiful .... still so familiar .... lying in the narrow hospital cot, hooked up to an I.V. which fed her nutrients through a needle in the back of her right hand, and the monitoring equipment.

There was no movement from his beloved, save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest, one blessing being that she had been able to breathe on her own since the first few days, the only reason the doctors had allowed themselves to be persuaded to keep Catherine here all this time.

That, and the fact that with her vast wealth, Catherine Chandler could afford the best of everything, and her powerful and very persuasive friends, Jenny Aronson and Joe Maxwell, ensured that she got the best, including any and all new treatments and therapies relating to her condition.

The staff were happy to attend to their patient with all the devotion that her money could buy.

The fact that Catherine was here at all, was thanks to Diana Bennett, who had negotiated with Joe and Jenny that they not try to find out anything about Vincent, and that they leave the evenings free for him to visit.

To this day, Joe and Jenny and kept their word, and Vincent had not had so much as a sense that they had even tried to discover his identity.

Diana had told them all that they had needed to know.

That Vincent loved Catherine, and Catherine had loved Vincent, that she would have wanted to spend every minute that she could with him.

And that it had been Vincent who had rescued Catherine, and returned her to her apartment on that fateful night five years ago, believing her to be dead.

Through caring for Catherine, and ensuring that she was well looked after, Jenny and Joe had come to care deeply for each other, and after a year of sharing the disappointments and despair of sitting at their friend's bedside, trying to coax her back from the void, they had turned to each other for love and comfort.

They had been married for three years now, and had twin daughters, Catherine and Diana, who would be two in the Fall, and a new born son, whom they had called Vincent, after their friend's devoted, if by necessity, invisible love.

Although they had never met, the couple had included Vincent in their plans, sharing their happiness with the unseen stranger, striking up a strange kind of correspondence, filling Vincent in on any plans to change Catherine's room, medication, doctor, always knowing when Vincent had been to visit Catherine, for they would find a new book, or a rose, or a beautifully written passage of poetry on her bedside cabinet, and they would leave messages of hope and optimism for Vincent to find when he came to visit Catherine.

It was strange to think that the couple had become good friends to him, even though they had never met, supportive and loving ....

Just another example of how Catherine had touched people's lives, and changed them, forever.

Vincent suspected that Catherine would have gotten quite a buzz out of knowing that she had brought together two of the nicest people in her circle of friends.

The sight of his beloved Catherine, lying so still in that narrow cot, always made his heart clench in his chest, and the pain, as fresh as it had been the very first time that he had seen her like this, took his breath away momentarily, and he rocked back and forth steadying himself on the window ledge, feeling his chest tighten and his lungs burn, as he fought against the scalding tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

He would never get used to seeing her like this.

It was always such a shock to him, that she could be alive, yet show no sign of recognition or of even being aware of his being in the room with her.

Each evening it was the same, the jolt that shot through him as he realized that it was not just some hideous nightmare that he would soon awaken from.

She really was lost to him.

Trapped in some nether world.

Unable to reach out to him.

But, he refused to believe that she was gone forever.

Not Catherine.

She had been too vibrant. Too alive.

If there was any chance at all that she might find a way back to him, even after all this time, he had to cling to that hope.

On soft booted feet, Vincent crossed the room silently and sank down in to the chair at Catherine's bedside.

"Catherine ...."

He spoke her name on the merest whisper, reaching out to take her pale, cool hand in his own gently, closing his eyes as he imagined, just for a moment, that he could hear her beautiful, familiar voice saying in deeply seductive tones.

_**"Hello Vincent ...."**_

"I miss you so much .... Father and Mary send their love, as always .... and Jacob .... Jacob is getting so big now .... full of mischief and life .... just like you .... You would be so proud of him .... so proud ...."

His voice trailed away and the tears spilled over on to his dark ginger down and whisker covered cheeks, as he bowed his head and fought for a measure of control.

"Oh Catherine .... I _**need**_ you so much ...." He whispered thickly, his voice very low and intense now. "I need you .... to guide me .... advise me .... I wish that you could share this with me, Catherine .... this most miraculous moment in my life .... save for the discovery that you had given me a son ...."

He paused briefly, lowering his head again, to wrestle with fresh tears.

"Catherine, I have a sister ...." He let out a deep, shuddering sigh, his gaze falling on the relaxed face of his beloved, willing some reaction, some hint that she had heard him and had understood what he had said, to register on her familiar features, but they remained relaxed in repose, no fluttering of eyelids, no smile curving at her lips, no reassuring squeeze of her hand in his.

No reaction at all.

Vincent hung his head briefly once more, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

He knew that Catherine would have been so happy for him, rejoicing with him, sharing in his good fortune.

And for a moment, he felt again, the warmth of Catherine's love.

And if that was so, then how could she be lost to him?

True, he had no empathic sense of her, except that her heart still beat in her chest, and a vague sense of her being very far away.

Just as it had been since he had awoken in that terrible dark cavern, in her arms, knowing in his heart that this was the woman that he loved, and whom loved him.

Yet, strangely, unable to recall even her name ....

And then, when he had recovered, the disappointment of not being able to _**feel**_ her, their Bond broken .... forever .... it seems.

But even that awareness of her was something.

She hadn't quite slipped beyond his reach.

"I love you Catherine. I will always love you ...." He vowed softly. "And some day .... we will be together again, and you will know your son, and the joy that he has brought into my life. Come back to me Catherine, please .... come back to me ...."

His voice trailed away then as he struggled to overcome fresh tears which were stinging in his eyes, and the lump that had suddenly risen in his throat.

He sat by her bedside in silence, measuring the passage of time with her every breath, marveling that even after five years, she had lost none of her youth and beauty, thanks to the care and attention of Jenny Maxwell, who took a pride in maintaining Catherine's appearance and the nurses who tended to Catherine's daily personal hygiene needs.

At last, Vincent let out a long, shuddering sigh, and squeezed Catherine's hand gently.

"I am sorry, my love, but I cannot stay long tonight. I am going to meet her .... my sister. Josephine .... But I will come again, soon. I promise. Be well my love ...."

He lifted her cool hand to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to the delicately veined flesh on the back of her hand, then pressed it softly against his warm, down covered cheek before lowering it gently back to the bed.

With that, without so much as a backward glance, Vincent forced legs made of lead to carry him back to the window, and back out into the night, leaving behind him as he did so, yet another small piece of his heart.

/a\

For Josephine Grayson, the evening had also dragged on, until she had returned to the attic, to where Mr Ludlow had hauled her mother's boxes of treasures out of the way, and to keep them safe.

She had sat, cross-legged on the dusty floor, and again gone through the neatly wrapped contents of the boxes, wondering if she should pick something to take with her, to give to her brother.

She had still not decided, when a distant clock somewhere in the house below her, struck eleven, causing her heart to miss a beat, and her hands to begin shaking.

She stared at the contents of the boxes, trying to chose, then reached out and picked up one of Andrea Reeve's journals, before rushing back down to her bedroom to change into black corduroy jeans, a thick purple turtleneck sweater and low heeled black boots, then pulling on her warmest, heavy winter coat, scarf and thermal gloves, she made her way quietly down the central staircase, stowing the journal in her coat pocket, as she crossed the black and white checkered tiled hallway.

As she quietly let herself out of the front door, the small antique brass carriage clock struck the half hour.

The lower levels of the house were in darkness, the Ludlow's habitually retiring early for the night, and Josephine checked that she had her house keys with her, before pulling the front door shut quietly behind her.

She walked to the end of the street where the cab that she had telephoned for earlier that evening was waiting for her, and she told the driver to head for Central Park West, as she sat back and made herself comfortable for the short journey to the park.

_**Destiny .... here I come!**_

She smiled softly to herself.

Her stomach was tying its self in knots, and her heart was racing the closer that she got to the park, but, Josephine had never felt more alive in her life.

Her hands were shaking badly, as she fumbled with the money to pay off the cab driver, and her breath was coming in rapid little gasps as she walked the badly illuminated paths toward the lagoon.

The moon was a shiny coin, like a bright silver dollar, until dark grey clouds scudded over it. The air was frigid, her breath a plume of white vapor, the ground crunching loudly under her feet, fresh with frost.

There were a few hardy souls around, mostly couples, walking with their arms around each others shoulders or waists, and they were heading in the opposite direction to Josephine's destination, towards the nearest exits to homes with roaring fires and beds with thick, warming comforters.

As she walked, Josephine could feel the weight of her mother's journal banging against her thigh as it rested safely in the right pocket of her coat, and she was still undecided whether to hand it over to her brother.

_**It might be more prudent not to give away too much too soon, especially if she wanted an excuse to see him again.**_

At last, she reached the lagoon, the waters rippling in a strong breeze, the moon casting long fingers of cold silver light, briefly on the mirrored surface, only to disappear behind still more dark clouds.

The luminous dial on her watch face proclaimed the time to be exactly midnight.

And Josephine felt completely alone.

She glanced around her nervously, but she could see nothing.

No-one ....

Josephine let out a deep, shuddering breath and began to pace back and forth along the path that followed the wooded shoreline of the lagoon, as it was too cold to stand still for too long.

She paced up and down and back and forth, silent and thoughtful, praying that he had not changed his mind, then stood silently for a moment, catching her breath, her whole body shaking with anticipation, as she strained her ears for any sound, the breeze teasing tendrils of her hair where it had worked loose from the intricate French braid that hung between her shoulders and half way down her back, then she let out a long, ragged sigh, bending to pick up a small rock, and with the ease of long practice, sent it skimming across the silver surface of the lagoon, bouncing once, twice, three times, before sinking somewhere close to the middle.

Sinking, just as her heart was sinking with disappointment.

Tears welled up in her eyes, induced by anger, disappointment, and the wind, icy cold, stinging her cheeks like a slap in the face.

From somewhere close by, an owl hooted, a bitter, cynical sound to Josephine's ears.

"Cometh the hour .... but not the man ...." Josephine said in a tight, bitter little voice, and turned on her heel. She had had enough of standing around in the cold, being made to look foolish.

_**Another game, Joseph?**_

_**Too bad. This time, we both lose!**_

"Giving up so easily, Josephine?"

At the sound of the low, husky, velvety voice, Josephine span around quickly, and found just to the side of her, a few feet away, a tall, dark figure, silhouetted in a faint beam of moonlight, standing just inside the line of naked trees.

"You disappoint me …."

The voice continued, the dark figure remaining still and at just that moment, the moon emerged, silver and white, from behind a cloud, revealing a tall, broad shouldered figure, clad from head to foot in a dark, flowing cloak with a large hood pulled up to conceal head and face from her view.

"That is not what I have come to expect from you …." The deep, masculine voice continued.

"Joseph?" She gasped, taking one faltering step forward.

"For the purpose of this meeting .... yes ...."

"Oh my God," Josephine felt her knees grow suddenly weak, hardly daring to believe that he was really there.

She could see nothing of him, no details of face, eyes, hair, but the voice, the voice was like dark honey, low and gentle and inspiring trust.

"Joseph ...." Her voice suddenly cracked, and she took another small step toward him.

"Come no closer." He advised in warning tones.

"But ...." She stammered in confusion.

"Please!" He insisted softly.

"All right ...." She acquiesced. "I was beginning to think that you had changed your mind. That you weren't coming ...." Josephine spoke softly now, between teeth that were chattering from the cold. "I may have been about to give up on you, tonight, but I would never have given up looking for you. Never ...."

"Why?" He asked in a low, intense voice.

"You are my brother ...." Josephine smiled then, through fresh tears. "And .... I made a promise .... to our mother .... a promise that I would find you ...."

"Our .... mother ...."

"Yes .... She only told me about your existence on her deathbed ...."

"When did she die?"

"December 11 ....

"How?"

"Cancer. She had cancer of the stomach. Secondaries in the liver, lungs and pancreas. She was very sick Joseph ...." Josephine explained as gently as she could.

"Why did she wait so long .... to tell you .... about me?"

"She probably wouldn't ever have told me, if she had had a choice, but, she wanted me to find you ...."

"Why?" There was just a hint of something akin to bitterness in those dark, velvet tones now.

"Because she wanted you to know that she loved you .... always ...."

_**"Loved?**_ _**Me?"**_ He mocked.

"Yes ...."

Josephine thought about the journal in her pocket, then decided not to show it to him after all, suddenly having the strongest feeling that if she gave it to him, she would never see him again, and he would not see the others, never know the rest of it.

"How can that be?" He demanded a little more gruffly now. "She .... abandoned me ...."

"No ..... _**NO**_!" Josephine contradicted quickly, jumping hastily to her mother's defense.

"Is that what he told you? The man with the limp? No, Joseph, that's not how it happened. She gave you up. She gave you up to someone that she trusted, someone that she hoped would be able to offer you the kind of life that you deserved, that she could not give to you, and giving you up almost killed her ...." She went on quickly.

"She gave me up?" He echoed. "She did not abandon me? Dump me?"

"No," Josephine frowned deeply.

"So .... Anna did not simply find me ...."

"Anna Pater? No. She was there when you were born, helped to deliver you, and when she took you and went to find something to wrap you in, mother crawled away to hide, scared that she was dying, but unable to just let you go. Watching as Anna Pater wrapped you in a pile of filthy rags, and carried you away ...."

"Gave me up, abandoned me .... What is the difference? She wanted nothing to do with me."

"That's not quite true. She loved you. Wanted you, but she knew that there was something special about you, that she could not give you the life that you deserved. So-o-o, she let you go. Look, I know you probably find this hard to believe, after all, I am a total stranger to you, but giving you up was the hardest thing that she ever had to do. It almost killed her. She loved you so much, there was little or no love left for anyone else. For my father, or for me ...." Josephine concluded on a soft sob, and she saw a slight movement of his head.

"Her name was Andrea ...." Josephine said after a brief silence, hoping to touch him in some small way, connect with him.

"Andrea ...." He echoed softly. "What did she say of my .... father?" He asked in a very low voice, edged with emotion.

"Look ...." Josephine hesitated. "Look .... this is no place to talk .... Why don't you come to my home ...."

"No!" He responded sharply.

"Please ...." She moved a little closer.

"Come no closer ...." He warned again.

"Why?" Josephine asked softly. "I want to see you ...."

"No ...."

"Why not?"

"Because .... my .... appearance ...."

"Is different? Yes. I know," Josephine said in soft understanding tones. "I know about the way that you look, Joseph. Mother told me everything, even about the way you look. She told me everything ...."

"Everything?" His tone grew hard once more. "Tell me ...."

"It would be better if you read her journals, Joseph. She wrote it all down for you, and there are some things, trinkets, things that she wanted you to have ...."

"That is not important now. Tell me .... tell me what she told you of how I came to be ...."

"Please, Joseph, this is not very pleasant. I am freezing to death standing here. Won't you come to my home? Andrea's home? You will be safe there, I assure you ...."

He took a step back from her, momentarily dissolving into the shadows.

"Joseph?"

There was just a hint of panic in her voice as she called out to him.

"Please Joseph, don't go. I mean you no harm ...." She assured. "If you come to my home, we will be alone. We can make ourselves comfortable, talk .... The things that mother meant for you to have are in the attic ...." She explained, her teeth chattering with the cold, punctuating her words, as she fervently hoped that she was not simply wasting her breath in talking to the trees.

For his part, Vincent felt a pull, an inexplicable something drawing him to this woman.

"Joseph .... I have the answers that you seek! Come .... please .... trust me ...." She implored softly. "I can tell you what Andrea told me .... yes .... but, it wont be the same .... you see, she wrote it all down for you .... so that you would know it .... in her own words .... Please! I promised her that I would find you and tell you .... _**show**_ you the way to the truth. Help me to keep that promise .... to our mother ...."

She was very persuasive, Vincent had to admit to himself silently.

He had come this far ....

He could not give up now ....

Could he?

"All right ...." He conceded softly, with a deep sigh, stepping out from the shadows once more. "I will meet you there ...."

"You have my address?"

"Yes," He confirmed. "Does the attic have a skylight?"

"Yes ...."

"Then open it for me. I will join you there."

And with that, he abruptly turned away from her, melting into the shadows once more, as the moon once again disappeared behind a large black cloud.

"Joseph?"

No answer.

"Joseph?"

Still no answer.

"Damn!" Josephine muttered in a most unladylike fashion.

It was the second time today that someone had rudely walked away from her, and she didn't much like it!

_**Thank you very much!**_

"Well .... don't just stand there dunderhead ...." She mumbled through a mouthful of chattering teeth. "Get moving!

**TO BE CONTINUED/.....**


End file.
